“Be not discouraged either before obstacles, or before ill-will.  Wait patiently.  The sacred hour will sound for you and all the ways will be made smooth.”

  (Charge of Mgr. de Nancy).

Drawing near to the window, Suzanne distinguished in front of her, behind the open-work palisade, a dark motionless figure.

She immediately recognized the Cure.

Alarmed and trembling, she hastily drew back; but she heard a gentle cough, as if someone was calling and was afraid of being surprised.

“What is happening?” she said to herself, “what is he doing there?”

She covered herself hurriedly with a dressing-gown and drew near the casement again.  Marcel, with his hat in his hand, bowed to her, and appeared to invite her by a sign to come down.

Again she drew back.  She knew not what to think or what to do.  She hesitated to comply with the priest’s desire, and, on the other hand, she was afraid lest Marianne, or some neighbour, should happen to wake and catch the Cure of the village making signs, at that unseasonable hour, before her door, during her father’s absence.  God only knew what a scandal there would be then! and as tongues would wag, her father perhaps might hear of it, and what explanation could she give? already they were beginning to chatter about her absence from the services and their meetings on the road.

She was seized with terror and ran to put out the lamp, calculating that the Cure would withdraw.

But the Cure of Althausen had not undertaken this adventurous expedition to abandon it at the moment when he was attaining his object.  Excited by the alcohol, by the dishabille of the charming young girl, and by all that he had just caught a sight of, emboldened by the night and the solitary place, he was waiting with impatience.

Therefore when Suzanne, trembling all over, drew near a second time to see if he was gone, he was at the same place, still bowing to her and calling her by signs.  He was not tired, and with perfectly clerical obstinacy, multiplied his salutes and his signs.

She said to herself that there was doubtless some important motive for him to have decided, in spite of dangers and the proprieties, to require an interview with her in the middle of the night “Good God! could some misfortune have happened to my father?” The thought oppressed her mind.  She hesitated no longer, put on a light petticoat, threw a shawl over her shoulders, and went downstairs.

LXXI.

THE BREACH.

“Who art thou, who knockest so loudly.  Art thou Great Love, to whom all must yield, for whom heroes sacrificed (more than life) their very heart ...  Ah, if thou art he, let the door be opened wide.”

  MICHELET (L’Amour).

She saw at once that he was all in a fever.

—­What has happened? she said.  You have seen my father?