Marcel trembled. He had taken the young girl's hand, but he quickly dropped
it, fearing she might observe his agitation.

--Ah! Suzanne continued, there are hours when I miss the school, my
companions, the long cold corridors, our silent school-room, even the
under-mistresses. I am ashamed of it, and angry with myself, but I
must-confess it. Is this then that liberty I so desired? I was a prisoner
then, but I was peaceful, I was happy: I see it now. Weariness consumes me
here. I see no aim for my life. I had one consolation; my religious duties.
That is taken away from me. For my father has formally forbidden me this
evening to go to church. If I go there again, I disobey my father and I
grieve him. If I obey his orders, I take away the only happiness of my
life.

She had spoken with volubility, and the priest listened to her in silence.
Hanging on her look, he drank in her words. He heard them without
comprehending exactly their meaning. It was sweet music which charmed him,
but he only thought of one thing. She had said: "Your looks avoided mine."

When she had finished speaking, he was surprised to hear her no longer and
listened afresh.

--I have spoken with open heart to my confessor, said Suzanne timidly,
astonished at this silence.

--To the confessor! no, no, dear child; to the friend, to the friend, is it
not? Do you want him? Will you trust yourself to me? Will you let yourself
be guided by me? I will bring you by a way from which I will remove all the
thorns.