smiling and spoke to her gently; and the servant's manners changed
directly.

She also became like she had been before, attentive and submissive.

Several days passed thus in a continual constraint and hidden anger; at the
same time, a restlessness consumed him, which he used all his power to
conceal.

He had not seen Suzanne again, either at the morning Masses, or in her
usual walks. He looked forward to Sunday; but at High Mass her place
remained empty; he reckoned on Vespers: Vespers, and then Compline passed
without her. In vain he searched the nave and the galleries, his sorrowing
gaze did not find Suzanne, and he chanted the _Laudate pueri dominum_ with
the voice of the _De profundis_.

Where was she? He had no other thought. Her father had prevented her from
coming to church, without any doubt; but why had he not seen her as before
upon the roads, which they both liked? He made a thousand conjectures, and
with his thoughts completely absorbed in Suzanne, he forgot aught else. He
saw no longer those attractive members of his congregation, who admired him
in secret as they accompanied him with their fresh voices, and were
astonished at the mysterious trouble which agitated their sweet pastor; he
forgot even the odious spy who watched him in some corner of the church,
and whom he would meet again at his house.

Ashamed of himself, he recalled with a blush the hand he had kissed in a
moment of frenzy, which must have let Suzanne suspect what was the plague
which consumed his heart, and he would have sacrificed ten years of his
life to become again what he was in the eyes of this young girl, hardly a