rustle of dresses and the noise of
footsteps on the pavement.

Suddenly, he felt a tickling in his throat that nearly choked him, and
he could not altogether prevent himself from coughing, and when at last
it passed off, the unfortunate man was horrified at hearing some one
come into the chapel and up to the confessional. Whoever it was, knelt
down, and gave a discreet knock at the grating which separated the
priest from his penitents, so he quickly put on the surplice and stole
which were hanging on a nail, and covering his face with his
handkerchief, and sitting back in the shade, he opened the grating.

It was a woman, who was already saying her prayers and he gave the
responses as well as he could, from his boyish recollections, and was
somewhat agitated by the delicious scent that emanated from her
half-raised veil and from her bodice; but at her first words he started
so, that he almost fainted. He had recognized his wife's voice, and it
felt to him as if his seat were studded with sharp nails, that the sides
of the confessional were closing in on him, and as if the air were
growing rarified.

He now collected himself, however, and regaining his self-possession, he
listened to what she had to say with increasing curiosity, and with some
uncertain, and necessary interruptions. The young woman sighed, was
evidently keeping back something, spoke about her unhappiness, her
melancholy life, her husband's neglect, the temptations by which she was
surrounded, and which she found it so difficult to resist; her
conscience seemed to be burdened by an intolerable weight, though she
hesitated to accuse herself directly. And in a low voice, with unctuous
and coaxing tones, and mastering himself, Champdelin said:

"Courage, my child; tell me everything; the divine mercy is infinite;
tell me all, without hesitation."

Then, all at once, she told him everything that was troubling her; how
passion and desire had thrown her into the arms of one of her husband's
best friends, the exquisite happiness that they felt when they met every
day, his delightful tenderness, which she could no longer resist, the
sin which was her joy, her only object, her consolation, her dream. She
grew excited, sobbed, seemed enervated and worn out, as if she were
still burning from her lover's kisses, hardly seemed to know what she
was saying, and begged for temporary absolution from her sins; but then
Champdelin, in his exasperation, and unable to r