“I must tell you first, Monsieur le Cure, to set your conscience quite at rest, I must tell you that I am here with the consent of my sister and my brother-in-law.  They know why I have come; they know what I am about to do.  They not only know, but they approve.  That is settled, is it not?  Well, what brings me here is your letter, Monsieur Jean, that letter in which you tell my sister that you can not dine with us this evening, and that you are positively obliged to leave here.  This letter has unsettled all my plans.  I had intended, this evening—­of course with the permission of my sister and brother-in-law—­I had intended, after dinner, to take you into the park, to seat myself with you on a bench; I was childish enough to choose the place beforehand.”

“There I should have delivered a little speech, well prepared, well studied, almost learned by heart, for since your departure I have scarcely thought of anything else; I repeat it to myself from morning to night.  That is what I had proposed to do, and you understand that your letter caused me much embarrassment.  I reflected a little, and thought that if I addressed my little speech to your godfather it would be almost the same as if I addressed it to you.  So I have come, Monsieur le Cure, to beg you to listen to me.”

“I will listen to you, Miss Percival,” stammered the Abbe.

“I am rich, Monsieur le Cure, I am very rich, and to speak frankly I love my wealth very much-yes, very much.  To it I owe the luxury which surrounds me, luxury which, I acknowledge—­it is a confession—­is by no means disagreeable to me.  My excuse is that I am still very young; it will perhaps pass as I grow older, but of that I am not very sure.  I have another excuse; it is, that if I love money a little for the pleasure that it procures me, I love it still more for the good which it allows me to do.  I love it—­selfishly, if you like—­for the joy of giving, but I think that my fortune is not very badly placed in my hands.  Well, Monsieur le Cure, in the same way that you have the care of souls, it seems that I have the care of money.  I have always thought, ’I wish, above all things, that my husband should be worthy of sharing this great fortune.  I wish to be very sure that he will make a good use of it with me while I am here, and after me, if I must leave this world first.’  I thought of another thing; I thought, ’He who will be my husband must be some one I can love!’ And now, Monsieur le Cure, this is where my confession really begins.  There is a man, who for the last two months, has done all he can to conceal from me that he loves me; but I do not doubt that this man loves me.  You do love me, Jean?”

“Yes,” said Jean, in a low voice, his eyes cast down, looking like a criminal, “I do love you!”

“I knew it very well, but I wanted to hear you say it, and now I entreat you, do not utter a single word.  Any words of yours would be useless, would disturb me, would prevent me from going straight to my aim, and telling you what I positively intend to say.  Promise me to stay there, sitting still, without moving, without speaking.  You promise me?”