his hands for religious instruction.  He received visits from dozens of such mothers, some of whom were a little tiresome, from a wish to teach him what he knew better than they, and at one time he had set apart Wednesday as his day for receiving such visits, that he might not be too greatly disturbed, as seemed likely to happen to him that day.  Not that he cared very much whether he ate his cutlet hot or cold, but his housekeeper cared a great deal.  A man may be a very experienced director, and yet be subject to direction in other ways.

The youth of Giselle took him by surprise.

“Monsieur l’Abbe,” she said, without any preamble, while he begged her to sit down, “I have come to speak to you of a person in whom you take an interest, Jacqueline de Nailles.”

He passed the back of his hand over his brow and said, with a sigh:  “Poor little thing!”

“She is even more to be pitied than you think.  You have not seen her, I believe, since last week.”

“Yes—­she came.  She has kept up, thank God, some of her religious duties.”

“For all that, she has played a leading part in a recent scandal.”

The Abbe sprang up from his chair.

“A duel has taken place because of her, and her name is in all men’s mouths—­whispered, of course—­but the quarrel took place at the Club.  You know what it is to be talked of at the Club.”

“The poison of asps,” growled the Abbe; “oh! those clubs—­think of all the evil reports concocted in them, of which women are the victims!”

“In the present case the evil report was pure calumny.  It was taken up by some one whom you also know—­Frederic d’Argy.”

“I have had profound respect these many years for his excellent and pious mother.”

“I thought so.  In that case, Monsieur l’Abbe, you would not object to going to Madame d’Argy’s house and asking how her son is.”

“No, of course not; but—­it is my duty to disapprove—­”

“You will tell her that when a young man has compromised a young girl by defending her reputation in a manner too public, there is but one thing he can do afterward-marry her.”

“Wait one moment,” said the Abbe, who was greatly surprised; “it is certain that a good marriage would be the best thing for Jacqueline.  I have been thinking of it.  But I do not think I could so suddenly—­so soon after—­”

“Today at four o’clock, Monsieur l’Abbe.  Time presses.  You can add that such a marriage is the only way to stop a second duel, which will otherwise take place.”

“Is it possible?”

“And it is also the only way to bring Frederic to decide on sending in his resignation.  Don’t forget that—­it is important.”

“But how do you know—­”

The poor Abbe stammered out his words, and counted on his fingers the arguments he was desired to make use of.

“And you will solemnly assure them that Jacqueline is innocent.”