In three months, he made up his mind to marry her, so much did she please him. He could not have said whence came this power over him, but he explained it by these words:
"I am possessed by her," as if he felt the desire of this girl within him with as much dominating force as one of the powers of Hell. He scarcely bothered himself about her transgression. So much the worse, after all; it did her no harm, and he bore no grudge against Victor Lecoq.
But if the curé was not going to succeed, what was he to do? He did not dare to think of it, so much did this anxious question torment him.
He reached the presbytery and seated himself near the little gateway to await for the priest's return.
He was there perhaps half-an-hour when he heard steps on the road, and he soon distinguished although the night was very dark, the still darker shadow of the sautane.
He rose up, his legs giving way under him, not even venturing to speak, not daring to ask a question.
The clergyman perceived him, and said gayly:
"Well, my lad, 'tis all right."
Césaire stammered:
"All right, 'tisn't possible."