“And now, Monsieur le Cure, it is not to him, it is to you that I am speaking; I want you to answer me, not him.  Tell me, if he loves me, and feels me worthy of his love, would it be just to make me expiate so severely the fortune that I possess?  Tell me, should he not agree to be my husband?”

“Jean,” said the old priest, gravely, “marry her.  It is your duty, and it will be your happiness!”

Jean approached Bettina, took her in his arms, and pressed upon her brow the first kiss.

Bettina gently freed herself, and addressing the Abbe, said: 

“And now, Monsieur l’Abbe, I have still one thing to ask you.  I wish—­I wish—­”

“You wish?”

“Pray, Monsieur le Cure, embrace me, too.”

The old priest kissed her paternally on both cheeks, and then Bettina continued: 

“You have often told me, Monsieur le Cure, that Jean was almost like your own son, and I shall be almost like your own daughter, shall I not?  So you will have two children, that is all.”

...........................

A month after, on the 12th of September, at mid-day, Bettina, in the simplest of wedding-gowns, entered the church of Longueval, while, placed behind the altar, the trumpets of the 9th Artillery rang joyously through the arches of the old church.

Nancy Turner had begged for the honor of playing the organ on this solemn occasion, for the poor little harmonium had disappeared; an organ, with resplendent pipes, rose in the gallery of the church—­it was Miss Percival’s wedding present to the Abbe Constantin.

The old Cure said mass, Jean and Bettina knelt before him, he pronounced the benediction, and then remained for some moments in prayer, his arms extended, calling down, with his whole soul, the blessings of Heaven on his two children.

Then floated from the organ the same reverie of Chopin’s which Bettina had played the first time that she had entered that little village church, where was to be consecrated the happiness of her life.

And this time it was Bettina who wept.

     ETEXT editor’s bookmarks: 

     Love and tranquillity seldom dwell at peace in the same heart
     One may think of marrying, but one ought not to try to marry

     ETEXT editor’s bookmarks for the entire Abbe Constantin: 

     Ancient pillars of stone, embrowned and gnawed by time
     And they are shoulders which ought to be seen
     Believing themselves irresistible
     But she will give me nothing but money
     Duty, simply accepted and simply discharged
     Frenchman has only one real luxury—­his revolutions
     God may have sent him to purgatory just for form’s sake
     Great difference between dearly and very much
     Had not told all—­one never does tell all
     He led the brilliant