“You are right, dear mother,” cried Agricola; “it was a thought from heaven.  Gabriel is an angel of purity, courage, nobleness—­the type of the true and good priest!”

“Ah, poor wife!” said Dagobert, with bitterness; “if you had never had any confessor but Gabriel!”

“I thought of it before he went on his journey,” said Frances, with simplicity.  “I should have liked to confess to the dear boy—­but I fancied Abbe Dubois would be offended, and that Gabriel would be too indulgent with regard to my sins.

“Your sins, poor dear mother?” said Agricola.  “As if you ever committed any!”

“And what did Gabriel tell you?” asked the soldier.

“Alas, my dear! had I but had such an interview with him sooner!  What I told him of Abbe Dubois roused his suspicions, and he questioned me, dear child, as to many things of which he had never spoken to me before.  Then I opened to him my whole heart, and he did the same to me, and we both made sad discoveries with regard to persons whom we had always thought very respectable, and who yet had deceived each of us, unknown to the other.”

“How so?”

“Why, they used to tell him, under the seal of secrecy, things that were supposed to come from me; and they used to tell me, under the same seal of secrecy, things that were supposed to come from him.  Thus, he confessed to me, that he did not feel at first any vocation for the priesthood; but they told him that I should not believe myself safe in this world or in the next, if he did not take orders, because I felt persuaded that I could best serve the Lord by giving Him so good a servant; and that yet I had never dared to ask Gabriel himself to give me this proof of his attachment, though I had taken him from the street, a deserted orphan, and brought him up as my own son, at the cost of labor and privations.  Then, how could it be otherwise?  The poor dear child, thinking he could please me, sacrificed himself.  He entered the seminary.”

“Horrible,” said Agricola; “’tis an infamous snare, and, for the priests who were guilty of it, a sacrilegious lie!”

“During all that time,” resumed Frances, “they were holding very different language to me.  I was told that Gabriel felt his vocation, but that he durst not avow it to me, for fear of my being jealous on account of Agricola, who, being brought up as a workman, would not enjoy the same advantages as those which the priesthood would secure to Gabriel.  So when he asked my permission to enter the seminary dear child! he entered it with regret, but he thought he was making me so happy!—­instead of discouraging this idea, I did all in my power to persuade him to follow it, assuring him that he could not do better, and that it would occasion me great joy.  You understand, I exaggerated, for fear he should think me jealous on account of Agricola.”

“What an odious machination!” said Agricola, in amazement.  “They were speculating in this unworthy manner upon your mutual devotion.  Thus Gabriel saw the expression of your dearest wish in the almost forced encouragement given to his resolution.”