ull of desires,
and he flung his desires in riot upon that gyneceum which he thought
belonged to him.

In certain village churches, all the young girls are placed apart, near the
choir, sometimes even in the choir itself, under the eyes of the priest, as
if they wished to leave the most convenient choice to that never satiated
Priapus.

The handsome Cure of Althausen made his choice therefore at his ease and
without the least shame.

This one was fair and pale, that other dark and high in colour; this one
was thin and delicate, that one fat and plump; this one was prettier, that
other more graceful. He knew not upon which to stop. He would have wished
for them all, for they all had that provoking beauty which pleases the
devil so much: exuberant youth.

And he could not grow weary of contemplating all these fresh faces; his
look, more than once, encountered sweet looks, and then he experienced a
delicious shock which stirred his heart.

It was not only the faces which excited his longings. In spite of himself,
the opulent breast of the fair player entered his imagination and his
thoughts seemed to search each one's neckerchief, seeking this powerful
nourishment for his appetite. He bad tried to drive away these abominable
desires, but it was in vain: the forbidden fruit was there and something
seemed to tell him that he had only to stretch out his hand to seize it.

As he tried to escape from this diabolical hallucination, he remarked
all at once in the gallery set apart for the wives of the principal
inhabitants, a young girl, a stranger, whose beauty struck him.

She was pale and dark, and her full lips, of a brilliant red, were lightly
pencilled with a black down.

Her deep, burning eyes darted flames, and were fixed on the priest with a
persistency which made him blush.

The erotic fever which had possessed him disappeared at once. He was
ashamed of himself and of his secret thoughts, for it seemed to him that
this stranger read to the bottom of his soul.

This flaming look which he had caught sight of, weighed upon him like
remorse.

In the evening, at the _Salut_ he saw again the same face and the same
burning eyes, fastened on his own; but be thought he discovered that there
was nothing terrible about them, and that what in his trouble he had taken
for inquisition and wrath, might in reality be nothing but tenderness and
sweetness.

He made skilful enquiries regarding the stranger; she was Mademois