Suzanne was there, in his house, alone, in the middle of the night, in his
own room, beside his fire, seated in his arm-chair. Oh, blessed vision! Was
it possible? Was he dreaming? Would the charming picture disappear? And he
remained there, motionless, anxious, not daring to move a step, for fear of
seeing her disappear. But yes, it is she indeed; she has hidden her
charming face in her hands, and it seems to him that tears are stealing
through her fingers.

He sprang towards her.

--Oh! Mademoiselle, what is the matter? What is the matter? Why these
tears, which break my heart? Confide your troubles to me, and, I swear to
you, if it be in my power, I will alleviate them.

--You cannot, answered Suzanne sadly, lifting to him her great moist eyes.

--I cannot! do not believe that, my child: the priest can do many things;
he knows how to comfort souls, it is the most precious of his gifts. Do not
hesitate to confide your griefs to the priest, to the friend.

He sat down, facing her, waiting for her to speak. But she remained silent;
he only heard the rapid breathing of the young girl, and the storm which
raged in his own heart.

At length he broke the silence.

--Mademoiselle, dear young lady, he said with his most insinuating voice,
do you lack confidence then in me? Ah! I see but too well, your father's
prejudices have left their marks.