the
happiness she desired. She tried to prolong her kisses, and threw her
arms passionately around him, pressing him to her, and pretending a
delirium of love she was very far from feeling. She tried every means to
make him lose control over himself, but she never once succeeded.

Tormented more and more by her desire, driven to extremities, and ready
to do or dare anything to gain her ends, she went again to the Abbe
Picot. She found him just finishing lunch, with his face crimson from
indigestion. He looked up as she came in, and, anxious to hear the
result of his mediation:

"Well?" he exclaimed.

"My husband does not want any more children," she answered at once
without any of the hesitation or shame-faced timidity she had shown
before.

The abbe got very interested, and turned towards her, ready to hear once
more of those secrets of wedded life, the revelation of which made the
task of confessing so pleasant to him.

"How is that?" he asked.

In spite of her determination to tell him all, Jeanne hardly knew how to
explain herself.

"He--he refuses--to make me a mother."

The priest understood at once; it was not the first time he had heard
of such things, but he asked for all the details, and enjoyed them as a
hungry man would a feast. When he had heard all, he reflected for a few
moments, then said in the calm, matter-of-fact tone he might have used
if he had been speaking of the best way to insure a good harvest.

"My dear child, the only thing you can do is to make your husband
believe you are pregnant; then he will cease his precautions, and you
will become so in reality."

Jeanne blushed to the roots of her hair, but, determined to be ready for
every emergency, she argued:

"But--but suppose he should not believe me?"

The cure knew too well the ins and outs of human nature not to have an
answer for that.

"Tell everybody you are _enceinte_. When he sees that everyone else
believes it, he will soon believe it himself. You will be doing no
wrong," he added, to quiet his conscience for advising this deception;
"the Church does not permit any connection between man and woman, except
for the purpose of procreation."

Jeanne followed the priest's artful device, and, a fortnight later, told
Julien she thought she was _enceinte_. He started up.

"It isn't possible! You can't be!"

She gave him her reasons for thinking so.

"Bah!" he answered. "You wait a little while."

Every morning he aske