r white feet; and this son, he idolised him as
belonging to her, as a part of her life, which she had left to him. And
even the young girl, the little working girl whom he had repulsed, he
loved her also with a tenderness like that of his son for her. Now his
nights were inexpressibly agitated by all three. Without his having been
willing to acknowledge it, had she then touched him so deeply as he saw
her in the great Cathedral, this little embroiderer, with her golden
hair, her fresh pure neck, in all the perfume of her youth? He saw her
again; she passed before him, so delicate, so pure in her victorious
submission. No remorse could have come to him with a step more certain
or more conquering. He might reject her with a loud voice. He knew well
that henceforth she held him strongly by the heart with her humble hands
that bore the signs of work. Whilst Felicien was so violently
beseeching him, he seemed to see them both behind the blonde head of the
petitioner--these two idolised women, the one for whom his son prayed,
and the one who had died for her child. They were there in all their
physical beauty, in all their loving devotion, and he could not tell
where he had found strength to resist, so entirely did his whole being
go out towards them. Overcome, sobbing, not knowing how he could again
become calm, he demanded from Heaven the courage to tear out his heart,
since this heart belonged no longer to God alone.

Until evening Monseigneur continued at prayer. When he at last
reappeared he was white as wax, distressed, anxious, but still resolute.
He could do nothing more, but he repeated to his son the terrible
word--"Never!" It was God alone who had the right to relieve him from
his promise; and God, although implored, gave him no sign of change. It
was necessary to suffer.

Some days had passed. Felicien constantly wandered round the little
house, wild with grief, eager for news. Each time that he saw anyone
come out he almost fainted from fear. Thus it happened that on the
morning when Hubertine ran to the church to ask for the sacred oils, he
learned that Angelique could not live through the day. The Abbe Cornille
was not at the Sacristy, and he rushed about the town to find him, still
having a last hope that through the intervention of the good man some
Divine aid might come. Then, as he brought back with him the sought-for
clergyman, his hope left him, and he had a frightful attack of doubt and
anger. What shou