—­Why should I be offended at them, said Suzanne softly.  Can one be offended with dreams?

—­You remember that night, when, alone as we are now, I allowed myself in a moment of pious transport, to bear to my lips your lovely hand.  I have often blushed at it....  I have blushed at it, because I thought that you might have mistaken that respectful kiss.  I kissed it as I should have kissed the hem of a queen’s robe, if that queen had been a saint, as I should have kissed the feet of the Virgin, as Magdalena kissed those of Christ, as I kiss it at this moment, dear, dear Suzanne.

And his lips rested on that little warm, quivering, feverish hand, and they could no more be separated from it.

And, when at length he withdrew his mouth from it, he found that Suzanne was so near to him that he heard the beatings of her heart.

—­Leave me, said the imprudent girl, I entreat you, leave me.  Oh, why are you doing that?

And she tried with vain efforts to loosen herself from the embrace.

But he murmured softly: 

—­Leave you, oh, never; you shall be my companion in life as you are my betrothed before the Eternal.  Leave you, dear Suzanne, sweet mystic rose, chosen vessel.  See, there is something stronger than all the laws and all the proprieties; it is a look from you.  Why do you repulse me?  I speak to you as to the Virgin, and I kiss your knees.  Chaste betrothed of the Levite, let me espouse you before God.

She struggled with all her might, excited and maddened.  But what can the dove do in the talons of the hawk!  Pressed to his breast by his vigorous arms, it was in vain that she asked for pity.  Hell might have opened, ere he would have dropped his prey.

The struggle lasted several minutes, passionate, silent, ardent.  Woman is weak.  Soon nothing was heard ... a sob ... and all died away in the dense shade.

The startled cricket was silent, and it alone might have counted the sighs, while in the neighbouring ditch the toad unwearied continued its love-song.

LXXIII.

AUDACES FORTUNA JUVAT.

  “If you have done wrong, rebuke yourself sharply: 
  If you have done well, have satisfaction.”

  SAINT FRANCOIS DE SALLES (Traite de l’Amour Divin).

Marcel reached the parsonage without hindrance.  Veronica had not yet returned.  He congratulated himself on that, and went up the stair-case which led to his room with the light step of a happy man, locked his door, and began to laugh like a madman.

Everything was safe; only there was down there in a corner of the village, an honour lost.

—­Is it really you, Marcel, is it really you, he said, who have just played so great a game, and won the trick?

And he laughed, and he rubbed his hands, and he would willingly have danced a wild saraband, if he had not been afraid of making a noise.