She allowed him to conduct her.  He showed them into his library, which was his favourite apartment, the sanctuary of his labours, his griefs and his dreams.  He took some vine-twigs which he threw in the fireplace, and soon a cheerful flame lighted up the hearth.

XXXVI.

THE HOT WINE.

“I looked at her; she tried to show nothing of what she felt in her heart.  She held herself straight, like an oarsman who feels that the current is carrying him away, and her nostrils quivered.”

  CAMILLE LEMONNIER (Contes flamands et wallons).

Suzanne was sitting in the old arm-chair of straw, the seat of honour of the parsonage, her huge dark eyes followed the curling flames, while Marianne, standing up against one of the sides of the chimney-piece, cast around her an inquisitive and timorous look.  The priest with one knee on the ground, was drawing up the fire.

—­Here is quite a Christmas fire, he said as he got up.  Come close, Mademoiselle, your feet are doubtless damp.  It is cold; don’t you find it so?

He was trembling in all his limbs as if indeed he were frozen near this blazing fire.

Suzanne put forward a little delicate arched foot which she rested on one of the fire-dogs.  The priest’s eyes stayed with ecstasy on the white line, the breadth of two fingers, displayed between her boot and the bottom of her dress.

—­I am truly ashamed, she murmured, yes, truly ashamed to disturb you at such an hour.

—­Ought not the priest’s house, said Marcel, to be open to all at any hour?  It is open to the poor man who passes by; it is open sometimes to the vagabond; why should it not be to an angelic young lady who seeks a shelter against the storm?

—­It is true, it is the house of God, said Marianne.  The young girl looked at the priest, smiled and then became thoughtful.  She appeared soon no longer to be conscious where she was, nor of the priest who remained standing before her.  She knitted her eyebrows and a feverish shudder ran through her frame.

Marcel stooped down towards her with anxiety.

—­Are you in pain? he said.

She shook her head as if to drive away a world of thought which possessed her and answered with a kind of hesitation: 

—­No, Monsieur, thank you; I am not in pain.  But I tremble to find myself here.  What will my father say?  And you, Monsieur, what will you think of me?

—­But what are you frightened at, Mademoiselle? said Marianne.  We are here because Monsieur le Cure has had the goodness to bring us in.  Don’t you hear the rain outside?  As to your father, he is not obliged to know that we are at Monsieur le Cure’s.

—­Reassure yourself, Mademoiselle; your father cannot be offended because you have accepted a shelter against the bad weather.  You are here, as the good Marianne has just said, in the house of God, and I will say in my turn, beneath the eye of God.  These are very great words about so small a matter, he added with a smile.  But you are in pain?  Ah! you see, you have a cold already.