Mademoiselle, your feet are doubtless damp. It is cold; don't you find it
so?

He was trembling in all his limbs as if indeed he were frozen near this
blazing fire.

Suzanne put forward a little delicate arched foot which she rested on one
of the fire-dogs. The priest's eyes stayed with ecstasy on the white line,
the breadth of two fingers, displayed between her boot and the bottom of
her dress.

--I am truly ashamed, she murmured, yes, truly ashamed to disturb you at
such an hour.

--Ought not the priest's house, said Marcel, to be open to all at any hour?
It is open to the poor man who passes by; it is open sometimes to the
vagabond; why should it not be to an angelic young lady who seeks a shelter
against the storm?

--It is true, it is the house of God, said Marianne. The young girl looked
at the priest, smiled and then became thoughtful. She appeared soon no
longer to be conscious where she was, nor of the priest who remained
standing before her. She knitted her eyebrows and a feverish shudder ran
through her frame.

Marcel stooped down towards her with anxiety.

--Are you in pain? he said.

She shook her head as if to drive away a world of thought which possessed