, and soon a
cheerful flame lighted up the hearth.

XXXVI.

THE HOT WINE.

"I looked at her; she tried to show
nothing of what she felt in her heart.
She held herself straight, like an
oarsman who feels that the current is
carrying him away, and her nostrils
quivered."

CAMILLE LEMONNIER (_Contes flamands et wallons_).

Suzanne was sitting in the old arm-chair of straw, the seat of honour of
the parsonage, her huge dark eyes followed the curling flames, while
Marianne, standing up against one of the sides of the chimney-piece, cast
around her an inquisitive and timorous look. The priest with one knee on
the ground, was drawing up the fire.

--Here is quite a Christmas fire, he said as he got up. Come close,
Mademoiselle, your feet are doubtless damp. It is cold; don't you find it
so?

He was trembling in all his limbs as if indeed he were frozen near this
blazing fire.

Suzanne put forward a little delicate arched foot which she rested on one
of the fire-dogs. The priest's eyes stayed with ecstasy on the white line,
the breadth of two fingers, displayed between her boot and the bottom of
her dress.

--I am truly ashamed, she murmured, yes, truly ashamed to disturb you at
such an hour.

--Ought not the priest's house, said Marcel, to be open to all at any hour?
It is open to the poor man who passes by; it is open sometimes to the
vagabond; why should it not be to an angelic young lady who seeks a shelter
against the storm?

--It is true, it is the house of God, said Marianne. The young girl looked
at the priest, smiled and then became thoughtful. She appeared soon no
longer to be conscious where she was, nor of the priest who remained
standing before her. She knitted her eyebrows and a feverish shudder ran
through her frame.

Marcel stooped down towards her with anxiety.

--Are you in pain? he said.

She shook her head as if to drive away a world of thought which possessed
her and answered with a kind of hesitation:

--No, Monsieur, thank you; I am not in pain. But I tremble to find myself
here. What will my father say? And you, Monsieur, what will you think of
me?

--But what are you frightened at, Mademoiselle? said Marianne. We are here
because Monsieur le Cure has had the goodness to bring us in. Don't you
hear the rain outside? As to your father, he is not obliged to know that we
are at Monsieur le Cure's.

--Reassure yourself, Mademoiselle; your father cannot be offe