His servant's voice recalled Him to himself.
—Doubtless it is a sick person who asks for religious aid, she said.
Was there a slight irony in that question?
The priest thought he saw it. He called out sharply:
—You are still there, Veronica? Who has called you? I don't want you any longer.
—Pardon me, Monsieuur le Curé, she answered humbly and softly, I was waiting…. I thought that perhaps you were going out to visit this sick person and that then I could be useful to you in some way.
—You cannot be useful to me in any way, Veronica, But truly you astonish me. What have you then to say to me? Come, explain yourself at once.
—No, Monsieur le Curé, there is midnight striking. It is time to repose, I wish you good-night, sir.
—Good-night, Veronica.
"What a strange woman," said Marcel to himself, "what can she want with me. One would say that she had a secret to confide to me and that she does not dare…. Could she have any suspicion? No, it is impossible. How could she know what I want to hide from myself. She has caught two or three words perhaps; but what could she understand, and what have I let drop to compromise me? She has evidently heard others, for she was here before me, and these old walls have been witnesses, I am sure, of many groanings of the soul…. Let us be cautious, nevertheless, and repress within ourselves the thoughts which would come forth. A wise precept. It was a precept of my master of rhetoric. Yes, let us be cautious; in spite of this woman's appearance of devotion, who would trust to such marks of affection? The servant's enemy is his master; and I clearly see that independently of my dignity, I must not make the least false step; what torments I should reserve to myself for the future.