on her hips.

It was thus he saw her on the day when he first took a fancy for her. He
had, however, known her from infancy but never had he been so struck by
her as on that morning. They had stopped to talk for a few minutes, and
then he went away; and as he walked along he kept repeating:

"Faith, she's a fine girl, all the same. 'Tis a pity she made a slip with
Victor."

Till evening, he kept thinking of her, and also on the following morning.

When he saw her again, he felt something tickling the end of his throat,
as if a cock's feather had been driven through his mouth into his chest,
and since then, every time he found himself near her, he was astonished
at this nervous tickling which always commenced again.

In three months, he made up his mind to marry her, so much did she please
him. He could not have said whence came this power over him, but he
explained it by these words:

"I am possessed by her," as if he felt the desire of this girl within him
with as much dominating force as one of the powers of Hell. He scarcely
bothered himself about her transgression. So much the worse, after all;
it did her no harm, and he bore no grudge against Victor Lecoq.

But if the cure was not going to succeed, what was he to do? He did not
dare to think of it, so much did this anxious question torment him.

He reached the presbytery and seated himself near the little gateway to
await for the priest's return.

He was there perhaps half-an-hour when he heard steps on the road, and he
soon distinguished although the night was very dark, the still darker
shadow of the sautane.

He rose up, his legs giving way under him, not even venturing to speak,
not daring to ask a question.

The clergyman perceived him, and said gayly:

"Well, my lad, 'tis all right."

Cesaire stammered:

"All right, 'tisn't possible."

"Yes, my lad, but not without trouble. What an old ass your father is!"

The peasant repeated:

"'Tisn't possible!"

"Why, yes. Come and look me up to-morrow at midday in order to settle
about the publication of the banns."

The young man seized the cure's hand. He pressed it, shook it, bruised
it, while he stammered:

"True--true--true, Monsieur le Cure, on the word of an honest man, you'll
see me to-morrow--at your sermon."

PART II

The wedding took place in the middle of December. It was simple, the
bridal pair not being rich. Cesaire, attired in new clothes, was ready
since eight o'clock in