nd he brushed
continuously at one sleeve, because that was all he could see through
the sudden mist that had come before his eyes. And then, as he caught
her gazing at him, he put on the coat hurriedly.

"Yes, yes," he said hastily. "But we are all ready, are we not--eh?
Come then, Marie-Louise, we will go."

And presently they were on the street--and somehow to Father Anton the
crisp cold of the night was very grateful, preferable for once to the
soft warmth of his far-away South, since the hot flushes now kept
coming and burning in his cheeks, as he walked abstractedly along. And
they were silent for a little while, until a pressure of her fingers on
his arm aroused him, and he turned his head to look at her. Her
cheeks, too, he could see even in the murky light from the street
lamps, were flushed, and the dark eyes were very bright.

"Couldn't--couldn't we hurry a little, Monsieur le Cure?" she suggested
timidly.

"Hurry? Ah--you are cold!" he said contritely, and quickened his step.

"No," she answered. "I--it is only that it might be over--that we
might be too late."

The words brought an added twinge to the already sore and overburdened
soul of Father Anton. It was the heart of Marie-Louise that spoke, the
heart that had no room but only for Jean. Ah, yes; but did he not
understand that already! Had she not come across all France for Jean?
But that was not all! How ignorant of this great world-city, its life,
its customs, its fineness, its sordidness her words proclaimed her to
be--how dependent they proclaimed her to be! But did he not know that
too? How great indeed had been his own bewilderment, and confusion,
and dismay when he had first come to Paris a year ago--even he who was
accustomed to journeying, for had he not gone almost once a year from
Bernay-sur-Mer to Marseilles? How well he remembered it--but, tut,
tut--of what avail was that? This was a vastly different matter, a
very serious matter. Marie-Louise was a woman, so young, so beautiful,
and in her ignorance, in her ingenuousness which was so marked a trait
because she was so purely innocent, she--ah!--he found himself asking
the _bon Dieu_ to watch very carefully over Marie-Louise; and, very
earnestly, with sad misgivings, as a corollary to that prayer, to
forgive him if he were doing wrong in betraying the very innocence, the
trust and simple confidence for which he asked protection for her from
others.

"Father Anton, will