d; she could decide on no
precise course, and surrendered herself to the soothing influences of
the chant, tasting a pious joy such as she had never before found
inside a church.

"Have you been told about Madame de Chermette?" asked Juliette, unable
any longer to restrain her craving for a gossip.

"No, I know nothing."

"Well, well; just imagine. You have seen her daughter, so womanish and
tall, though she is only fifteen, haven't you? There is some talk
about her getting married next year to that dark young fellow who is
always hanging to her mother's skirts. People are talking about it
with a vengeance."

"Ah!" muttered Helene, who was not paying the least attention.

Madame Deberle went into particulars, but of a sudden the chant
ceased, and the organ-music died away in a moan. Astounded at the
loudness of her own voice breaking upon the stillness which ensued,
she lapsed into silence. A priest made his appearance at this moment
in the pulpit. There was a rustling, and then he spoke. No, certainly
not, Helene would not join that dinner-party. With her eyes fixed on
the priest she pictured to herself the next meeting with Henri, that
meeting which for three days she had contemplated with terror; she saw
him white with anger, reproaching her for hiding herself, and she
dreaded lest she might not display sufficient indifference. Amidst her
dream the priest had disappeared, his thrilling tones merely reaching
her in casual sentences: "No hour could be more ineffable than that
when the Virgin, with bent head, answered: 'I am the handmaiden of the
Lord!'"

Yes, she would be brave; all her reason had returned to her. She would
taste the joy of being loved, but would never avow her love, for her
heart told her that such an avowal would cost her peace. And how
intensely would she love, without confessing it, gratified by a word,
a look from Henri, exchanged at lengthy intervals on the occasion of a
chance meeting! It was a dream that brought her some sense of the
infinite. The church around her became a friend and comforter. The
priest was now exclaiming:

"The angel vanished and Mary plunged into contemplation of the divine
mystery working within her, her heart bathed in sunshine and love."

"He speaks very well," whispered Madame Deberle, leaning towards her.
"And he's quite young, too, scarcely thirty, don't you think?"

Madame Deberle was affected. Religion pleased her because the emotions
it prompted were i