The servant came near him:
—It is you who are making me ill with your fits of anger, she said with solicitude: shall I make you a little tea?
—I don't want anything.
—Come, Monsieur Marcel, be yourself. I am not what you think, no, I am not.
—It is my wish that you leave me, Veronica.
—Everything I do is for your interest, Monsieur le Curé, you will understand it one day.
—Leave me, I say.
The servant withdrew.
—It cannot last thus, he thought. What a scandalous scene! And what a horrible fatality thrusts me into this ridiculous and miserable situation! Ah, the apostle is right: "As soon as we leave the straight path, we fall into the abyss." And I am in the abyss, for I am the laughing-stock of this servant. What will become of me with this creature? How can I get rid of her? Can I turn her out? She would proclaim everywhere what she has discovered…. Ah, if it were only a question of myself alone! What a dilemma I am involved in! But that letter, that letter! Suzanne!… dear Suzanne … no doubt it is she who has written to me, my heart tells me so loudly.
He waited with feverish impatience for the postman's return.