make her
existence a perpetual holiday, a husband who would give himself, his
whole life, in return for her money.'

"You know me; such a husband I can not, I must not be. I am a soldier,
and shall remain one. If the chances of my career sent me some day to a
garrison in the depths of the Alps, or in some almost unknown village in
Algeria, could I ask her to follow me? Could I condemn her to the life
of a soldier's wife, which is in some degree the life of a soldier
himself? Think of the life which she leads now, of all that luxury, of
all those pleasures!"

"Yes," said the Abbe, "that is more serious than the question of money."

"So serious that there is no hesitation possible. During the three weeks
that I passed alone in the camp, I have well considered all that; I have
thought of nothing else, and loving her as I do love, the reason must
indeed be strong which shows me clearly my duty. I must go, I must go
far, very far away, as far as possible. I shall suffer much, but I must
not see her again! I must not see her again!"

Jean sank on a chair near the fireplace. He remained there quite
overpowered with his emotion. The old priest looked at him.

"To see you suffer, my poor boy! That such suffering should fall upon
you! It is too cruel, too unjust!"

At that moment some one knocked gently at the door.

"Ah!" said the Cure, "do not be afraid, Jean. I will send them away."

The Abbe went to the door, opened it, and recoiled as if before an
unexpected apparition.

It was Bettina. In a moment she had seen Jean, and going direct to him:

"You!" cried she. "Oh, how glad I am!"

He rose. She took his hands, and addressing the Cure, she said:

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur le Cure, for going to him first. You, I
saw yesterday, and him, not for three whole weeks, not since a certain
night, when he left our house, sad and suffering."

She still held Jean's hands. He had neither power to make a movement nor
to utter a sound.

"And now," continued Betting, "are you better? No, not yet, I can see,
still sad. Ah, I have done well to come! It was an inspiration! However,
it embarrasses me a little, it embarrasses me a great deal, to find you
here. You will understand why when you know what I have come to ask of
your godfather."

She relinquished his hands, and turning toward the Abbe, said:

"I have come to beg you to listen to my confession--yes, my confession.
But do not go away, Monsieur Jean; I will make my