Reine remained thoughtful, her brows knit, her countenance troubled.

“I have every confidence in you, Monsieur le Cure, but—­”

“But you hesitate about believing me,” interrupted the Abbe, piqued at not finding in one of his flock the blind obedience on which he had reckoned.  “You must know, nevertheless, that your pastor has no interest in deceiving you, and that when he seeks to influence you, he has in view only your well-being in this world and in the next.”

“I do not doubt your good intentions,” replied Reine, with firmness, “but a promise can not be annulled without sufficient cause.  I have given my word to Claudet, and I am too loyal at heart to break faith with him without letting him know the reason.”

“You will find some pretext.”

“And supposing that Claudet would be content with such a pretext, my own conscience would not be,” objected the young girl, raising her clear, honest glance toward the priest; “your words have entered my soul, they are troubling me now, and it will be worse when I begin to think this matter over again.  I can not bear uncertainty.  I must see my way clearly before me.  I entreat you then, Monsieur le Cure, not to do things by halves.  You have thought it your duty to tell me I can not wed with Claudet; now tell me why not?”

“Why not? why not?” repeated the Abbe, angrily.  “I distress myself in telling you that I am not authorized to satisfy your unwise curiosity!  You must humble your intelligence and believe without arguing.”

“In matters of faith, that may be possible,” urged Reine, obstinately, “but my marriage has nothing to do with discussing the truths of our holy religion.  I therefore respectfully ask to be enlightened, Monsieur le Cure; otherwise—­”

“Otherwise?” repeated the Abby Pernot, inquiringly, rolling his eyes uneasily.

“Otherwise, I shall keep my word respectably, and I shall marry Claudet.”

“You will not do that?” said he, imploringly, joining his hands as if in supplication; “after being openly warned by me, you dare not burden your soul with such a terrible responsibility.  Come, my child, does not the possibility of committing a mortal sin alarm your conscience as a Christian?”

“I can not sin if I am in ignorance, and as to my conscience, Monsieur le Cure, do you think it is acting like a Christian to alarm without enlightening?”

“Is that your last word?” inquired the Abbe, completely aghast.

“It is my last word,” she replied, vehemently, moved both by a feeling of self-respect, and a desire to force the hand of her interlocutor.

“You are a proud, obstinate girl!” exclaimed the Abbe, rising abruptly, “you wish to compel me to reveal this secret!  Well, have your way!  I will tell you.  May the harm which may result from it fall lightly upon you, and do not hereafter reproach me for the pain I am about to inflict upon you.”