pain, that he rose without saying a
word, and then, after a little hesitation, asked: "Shall I come back
presently?"

She gave a nod, which meant, "Yes, presently," and he walked away
towards the choir. Then she strove to pray. She made a superhuman effort
to invoke the Deity, and with quivering frame and bewildering soul
appealed for mercy to heaven. She closed her eyes with rage, in order no
longer to see him who just left her. She sought to drive him from her
mind, she struggled against him, but instead of the celestial apparition
awaited in the distress of her heart, she still perceived the young
fellow's curly moustache. For a year past she had been struggling thus
every day, every night, against the growing possession, against this
image which haunted her dreams, haunted her flesh, and disturbed her
nights. She felt caught like a beast in a net, bound, thrown into the
arms of this man, who had vanquished, conquered her, simply by the hair
on his lip and the color of his eyes. And now in this church, close to
God, she felt still weaker, more abandoned, and more lost than at home.
She could no longer pray, she could only think of him. She suffered
already that he had quitted her. She struggled, however, despairingly,
resisted, implored help with all the strength of her soul. She would
liked to have died rather than fall thus, she who had never faltered in
her duty. She murmured wild words of supplication, but she was listening
to George's footsteps dying away in the distance.

She understood that it was all over, that the struggle was a useless
one. She would not yield, however; and she was seized by one of those
nervous crises that hurl women quivering, yelling, and writhing on the
ground. She trembled in every limb, feeling that she was going to fall
and roll among the chairs, uttering shrill cries. Someone approached
with rapid steps. It was a priest. She rose and rushed towards him,
holding out her clasped hands, and stammering: "Oh! save me, save me!"

He halted in surprise, saying: "What is it you wish, madame?"

"I want you to save me. Have pity on me. If you do not come to my
assistance, I am lost."

He looked at her, asking himself whether she was not mad, and then said:
"What can I do for you?"

He was a tall, and somewhat stout young man, with full, pendulous
cheeks, dark, with a carefully shaven face, a good-looking city curate
belonging to a wealthy district, and accustomed to rich penitents.