one to see you, we will
go along by the Mascle. It is not very easy walking, but I managed it
all by myself; and, when we are together, we can help each other. You
know the way, don't you? We cross the churchyard, we descend to the
torrent, and then we shall only have to follow its course right up to
the garden. And one is quite at home down there. Nobody can see us,
there is nothing but brambles and big round stones. The bed of the
stream is nearly dry. As I came along, I thought: "By-and-by, when he is
with me, we will walk along gently together and kiss one another." Come,
Serge, be quick; I am waiting for you.'

The priest no longer appeared to hear her. He had betaken himself to
his prayers again, and was asking Heaven to grant him the courage of the
saints. Before entering upon the supreme struggle, he was arming himself
with the flaming sword of faith. For a moment he had feared he was
wavering. He had required all a martyr's courage and endurance to remain
firmly kneeling there on the flagstones, while Albine was calling
him: his heart had leapt out towards her, all his blood had surged
passionately through his veins, filling him with an intense yearning to
clasp her in his arms and kiss her hair. Her mere breath had awakened
all the memory of their love; the vast garden, their saunters beneath
the trees, and all the joy of their companionship.

But Divine grace was poured down upon him more abundantly, and the
torturing strife, during which all his blood seemed to quit his veins,
lasted but a moment. Nothing human then remained within him. He had
become wholly God's.

Albine, however, again touched him on the shoulder. She was growing
uneasy and angry.

'Why do you not speak to me?' she asked. 'You can't refuse; you will
come with me? Remember that I shall die if you refuse. But no! you
can't; it is impossible. We lived together once; it was vowed that we
should never separate. Twenty times, at least, did you give yourself to
me. You bade me take you wholly, your limbs, your breath, your very life
itself. I did not dream it all. There is nothing of you that you have
not given to me; not a hair in your head which is not mine. Your hands
are mine. For days and days have I held them clasped in mine. Your face,
your lips, your eyes, your brow, all, all are mine, and I have lavished
my love upon them. Do you hear me, Serge?'

She stood erect before him, full of proud assertion, with outstretched
arms. And, in