Marcel, full of a delicious trouble, read and re-read this letter. He did
not take careful note of his sensations, but he felt an ineffable joy
overflow his heart, and at the same time a vague anxiety.

His servant's voice recalled Him to himself.

--Doubtless it is a sick person who asks for religious aid, she said.

Was there a slight irony in that question?

The priest thought he saw it. He called out sharply:

--You are still there, Veronica? Who has called you? I don't want you any
longer.

--Pardon me, Monsieuur le Curé, she answered humbly and softly, I was
waiting.... I thought that perhaps you were going out _to visit this sick
person_ and that then I could be useful to you in some way.

--You cannot be useful to me in any way, Veronica, But truly you astonish
me. What have you then to say to me? Come, explain yourself at once.

--No, Monsieur le Curé, there is midnight striking. It is time to repose, I
wish you good-night, sir.

--Good-night, Veronica.

"What a strange woman," said Marcel to himself, "what can she want with me.