* Cf.  J. Ernest Charles in the “Censeur,” May-August, 1907,
     p. 562, col. 2.

After the ceremony, the Reverend Father Douillard remained in the sacristy at the disposal of those of the faithful who desired information concerning the charity, or who wished to bring their contributions.  Mademoiselle Clarence wished to speak to Father Douillard, so did Viscount Clena.  The crowd was large, and a queue was formed.  By chance Viscount Clena and Mademoiselle Clarence were side by side and possibly they were squeezed a little closely to each other by the crowd.  Eveline had noticed this fashionable young man, who was almost as well known as his father in the world of sport.  Clena had noticed her, and, as he thought her pretty, he bowed to her, then apologised and pretended to believe that he had been introduced to the ladies, but could not remember where.  They pretended to believe it also.

He presented himself the following week at Madame Clarence’s, thinking that her house was a bit fast—­a thing not likely to displease him—­and when he saw Eveline again he felt he had not been mistaken and that she was an extremely pretty girl.

Viscount Clena had the finest motor-car in Europe.  For three months he drove the Clarences every day over hills and plains, through woods and valleys; they visited famous sites and went over celebrated castles.  He said to Eveline all that could be said and did all that could be done to overcome her resistance.  She did not conceal from him that she loved him, that she would always love him, and love no one but him.  She remained grave and trembling by his side.  To his devouring passion she opposed the invincible defence of a virtue conscious of its danger.  At the end of three months, after having gone uphill and down hill, turned sharp corners, and negotiated level crossings, and experienced innumerable break-downs, he knew her as well as he knew the fly-wheel of his car, but not much better.  He employed surprises, adventures, sudden stoppages in the depths of forests and before hotels, but he had advanced no farther.  He said to himself that it was absurd; then, taking her again in his car he set off at fifty miles an hour quite prepared to upset her in a ditch or to smash himself and her against a tree.

One day, having come to take her on some excursion, he found her more charming than ever, and more provoking.  He darted upon her as a storm falls upon the reeds that border a lake.  She bent with adorable weakness beneath the breath of the storm, and twenty times was almost carried away by its strength, but twenty times she arose, supple and, bowing to the wind.  After all these shocks one would have said that a light breeze had barely touched her charming stem; she smiled as if ready to be plucked by a bold hand.  Then her unhappy aggressor, desperate, enraged, and three parts mad, fled so as not to kill her, mistook the door, went into the bedroom of Madame Clarence, whom he found putting on her hat in front of a wardrobe, seized her, flung her on the bed, and possessed her before she knew what had happened.