like gold, rang the bell. There came a gay, distant jingle; but for a
moment nobody appeared, and he was about to ring again, when the door was
thrown wide open, revealing a passage which ran right through the house,
beyond which appeared the ocean of Paris, the endless sea of house roofs
bathed in sunlight. And against this spacious, airy background, stood a
young woman of twenty-six, clad in a simple gown of black woolen stuff,
half covered by a large blue apron. She had her sleeves rolled up above
her elbows, and her arms and hands were still moist with water which she
had but imperfectly wiped away.

A moment's surprise and embarrassment ensued. The young woman, who had
hastened to the door with laughing mien, became grave and covertly
hostile at sight of the visitor's cassock. The priest thereupon realised
that he must give his name: "I am Abbe Pierre Froment."

At this the young woman's smile of welcome came back to her. "Oh! I beg
your pardon, monsieur--I ought to have recognised you, for I saw you wish
Guillaume good day one morning as you passed."

She said Guillaume; she, therefore, must be Marie. And Pierre looked at
her in astonishment, finding her very different from what he had
imagined. She was only of average height, but she was vigorously,
admirably built, broad of hip and broad of shoulder, with the small firm
bosom of an amazon. By her erect and easy step, instinct with all the
adorable grace of woman in her prime, one could divine that she was
strong, muscular and healthy. A brunette, but very white of skin, she had
a heavy helm of superb black hair, which she fastened in a negligent way,
without any show of coquetry. And under her dark locks, her pure,
intelligent brow, her delicate nose and gay eyes appeared full of intense
life; whilst the somewhat heavier character of her lower features, her