re disposed to discover evil than good, they say you are
compromising this young person. Now, Reine is living, as one may say,
alone and unprotected. It behooves me, therefore, as her pastor, to
defend her against her own weakness. That is the reason why I have taken
upon myself to beg you to be more circumspect, and not trifle with her
reputation."

"Her reputation?" repeated Julien, with irritation. "I do not understand
you, Monsieur le Cure!"

"You don't, hey! Why, I explain my meaning pretty clearly. Human beings
are weak; it is easy to injure a girl's reputation, when you try to make
yourself agreeable, knowing you can not marry her."

"And why could I not marry her?" inquired Julien, coloring deeply.

"Because she is not in your own class, and you would not love her enough
to overlook the disparity, if marriage became necessary."

"What do you know about it?" returned Julien, with violence. "I have no
such foolish prejudices, and the obstacles would not come from my side.
But, rest easy, Monsieur," continued he, bitterly, "the danger exists
only in the imagination of your parishioners. Reine has never cared for
me! It was Claudet she loved!"

"Hm, hm!" interjected the cure, dubiously.

"You would not doubt it," insisted de Buxieres, provoked at the Abbe's
incredulous movements of his head, "if you had seen her, as I saw her,
melt into tears when I told her of Sejournant's death. She did not even
wait until I had turned my back before she broke out in her lamentations.
My presence was of very small account. Ah! she has but too cruelly made
me feel how little she cares for me!"

"You love her very much, then?" demanded the Abbe, slyly, an almost
imperceptible smile curving his lips.

"Oh, yes! I love her," exclaimed he, impetuously; then coloring and
drooping his head. "But it is very foolish of me to betray myself, since
Reine cares nothing at all for me!"

There was a moment of silence, during which the curb took a pinch of
snuff from a tiny box of cherry wood.

"Monsieur de Buxieres;" said he, With a particularly oracular air,
"Claudet is dead, and the dead, like the absent, are always in the wrong.
But who is to say whether you are not mistaken concerning the nature of
Reine's unhappiness? I will have that cleared up this very day.
Good-night; keep quiet and behave properly."

Thereupon he took his departure, but, instead of returning to the
parsonage, he directed his steps hurriedly toward La Thui