“Alas! I was never baptized, and have no religious teaching.”
“All may yet be remedied then,” replied the priest, “provided that your faith, your repentance, are sincere and without ulterior motive.”
“Lucien and God fill my heart,” said she with ingenuous pathos.
“You might have said God and Lucien,” answered the priest, smiling. “You remind me of the purpose of my visit. Omit nothing that concerns that young man.”
“You have come from him?” she asked, with a tender look that would have touched any other priest! “Oh, he thought I should do it!”
“No,” replied the priest; “it is not your death, but your life that we are interested in. Come, explain your position toward each other.”
“In one word,” said she.
The poor child quaked at the priest’s stern tone, but as a woman quakes who has long ceased to be surprised at brutality.
“Lucien is Lucien,” said she, “the handsomest young man, the kindest soul alive; if you know him, my love must seem to you quite natural. I met him by chance, three months ago, at the Porte-Saint-Martin theatre, where I went one day when I had leave, for we had a day a week at Madame Meynardie’s, where I then was. Next day, you understand, I went out without leave. Love had come into my heart, and had so completely changed me, that on my return from the theatre I did not know myself: I had a horror of myself. Lucien would never have known. Instead of telling him what I was, I gave him my address at these rooms, where a friend of mine was then living, who was so kind as to give them up to me. I swear on my sacred word——”
“You must not swear.”