rudent
enough to let himself be led by the younger brother at least as far as
her door. The sick girl's room was at the top of the house. Her mother
stayed discreetly in the shop. He was left alone as long as he
pleased, and if he chose could turn the key. At this time she was very
ill. He handled her as a child, drawing her forward a little to the
front of the bed, holding her head, and kissing her in a fatherly way.

She was very pure, but very sensitive. A slight touch, that no one
else would have remarked, deprived her of her senses: this Girard
found out for himself, and the knowledge of it possessed him with evil
thoughts. He threw her at will into this trance,[110] and she, in her
thorough trust in him, never thought of trying to prevent it, feeling
only somewhat troubled and ashamed at causing such a man to waste upon
her so much of his precious time. His visits were very long. It was
easy to foresee what would happen at last. Ill as she was, the poor
girl inspired Girard with a passion none the less wild and
uncontrollable. One freedom led to another, and her plaintive
remonstrances were met with scornful replies. "I am your master--your
god. You must bear all for obedience sake." At length, about
Christmas-time, the last barrier of reserve was broken down; and the
poor girl awoke from her trance to utter a wail which moved even him
to pity.

[110] A case of mesmerism applied to a very susceptible
patient.--TRANS.

An issue which she but dimly realized, Girard, as better enlightened,
viewed with growing alarm. Signs of what was coming began to show
themselves in her bodily health. To crown the entanglement, Laugier
also found herself with child. Those religious meetings, those suppers
watered with the light wine of the country, led to a natural raising
of the spirits of a race so excitable, and the trance that followed
spread from one to another. With the more artful all this was mere
sham; but with the sanguine, vehement Laugier the trance was genuine
enough. In her own little room she had real fits of raving and
swooning, especially when Girard came in. A little later than Cadiere
she, too became fruitful.

The danger was great. The girls were neither in a desert nor in the
heart of a convent, but rather, as one might say, in the open street:
Laugier in the midst of prying neighbours, Cadiere in her own family.
The latter's brother, the Jacobin, began to take Girard's long visits
amiss. One day