of morning, pure as it is, has not yet touched. Life! dear child, do not
seek to know it too soon. It is a vale of tears, and those who know it best
are those who have suffered most deception and weeping.

--But a priest is safe from deception and sorrows....

--Ah, Mademoiselle, you with that clear and honest look, you do not know
all that passes at the bottom of a man's heart.

Alas, we priests, we are but men, more miserable than others, that is the
difference ... yes, more miserable because we are more alone. Ah, you
cannot understand how painful it is never to have anybody to whom you can
open your heart; no one to partake your joys and mitigate your griefs; no
loved soul to respond to your soul; no intellect to understand your
intellect. Alone, eternally alone, that is our lot. We are men of all
families; friends of all, and we have no friends; counsellors to all, and
no one gives us salutary advice; directors of all consciences, and we have
no one to direct ours, but the evil thoughts which spring from our
weariness and our isolation. But why do I speak to you of all that, am I
mad? Let us talk about yourself. Come, dear child, I have made my little
disclosures to you, make yours to me, open your heart to me ... speak ...
speak.

--Well, yes, I wanted to see you, to speak with you, to ask your advice. I
used to meet you before from time to time in your walks, now you never go
out. I have gone to Mass, notwithstanding the displeasure it causes my
father, I thought your looks avoided mine. What have I done to you? I don't
believe I have done anything wrong. This evening I had a dispute with my
father. I went out not knowing where I went; the rain overtook us and I met
you.