envelop her with embraces.

When he had dismissed the faithful with the sacramental words _Ite missa
est_, he felt a momentary confusion and he felt his knees tremble. He was
afraid of himself, for he saw the Captain's daughter rise from her seat and
slowly make her way to the confessional.

What! It was perfectly true then, she had asked for his counsel, and while
he, the priest, was hesitating and seeking where he could converse with her
without exposing himself to the brutal invective of the father or the
senseless scandals of the village, this simple girl had found, without any
aid from him, the safest spot, the sanctuary of which he had inwardly
dreamed.

He was then about to listen all alone to the divine accents of that
charming mouth; to see her kneeling before him, her face wreathed with a
modest blush,--before him who had wished to kiss her foot-prints.

Oh, God supreme! who could depict his transports, his emotion, the thrill
which ran through all his frame. She, she so near to him, so near that her
sweet breath caresses his face like a breeze come from heaven.

He felt wild with joy. But she also is affected, she also trembles, and
beneath her palpitating breast, he seems to hear the beatings of her heart.
What passed? What avowal did this maiden of ardent feeling make to this
hot-passioned man? There is one of those mysteries which remain for ever
buried between priest and woman, between penitent and confessor. What they
said to one another no one knows, but from that confessional into which he
entered pensive, wavering, it is true, but still contending, he went out
with his face radiant, and his heart intoxicated with love.