He checked himself for a moment, again joined his hands, and raising his eyes toward heaven ejaculated fervently, as if repeating his devotions in the oratory:  “O Lord, thou knowest I would have spared her this bitter cup, but, between two evils, I have avoided the greater.  If I forfeit my solemn promise, consider, O Lord, I pray thee, that I do it to avoid disgrace and exposure for her, and deign to forgive thy servant!”

He seated himself again, placed one of his hands before his eyes, and began, in a hollow voice, Reine, all the while gazing nervously at him: 

“My child, you are forcing me to violate a secret which has been solemnly confided to me.  It concerns a matter not usually talked about before young girls, but you are, I believe, already a woman in heart and understanding, and you will hear resignedly what I have to tell you, however much the recital may trouble you.  I have already informed you that your marriage with Claudet is impossible.  I now declare that it would be criminal, for the reason that incest is an abomination.”

“Incest!” repeated Reine, pale and trembling, “what do you mean?”

“I mean,” sighed the cure, “that you are Claudet’s sister, not having the same mother, but the same father:  Claude-Odouart de Buxieres.”

“Oh! you are mistaken! that cannot be!”

“I am stating facts.  It grieves me to the heart, my dear child, that in speaking of your deceased mother, I should have to reveal an error over which she lamented, like David, with tears of blood.  She confessed her sin, not to the priest, but to a friend, a few days before her death.  In justice to her memory, I ought to add that, like most of the unfortunates seduced by this untamable de Buxieres, she succumbed to his wily misrepresentations.  She was a victim rather than an accomplice.  The man himself acknowledged as much in a note entrusted to my care, which I have here.”

And the Abbe’ drew from his pocket an old, worn letter, the writing yellow with age, and placed it before Reine.  In this letter, written in Claude de Buxieres’s coarse, sprawling hand, doubtless in reply to a reproachful appeal from his mistress, he endeavored to offer some kind of honorable amends for the violence he had used, and to calm Madame Vincart’s remorse by promising, as was his custom, to watch over the future of the child which should be born to her.

“That child was yourself, my poor girl,” continued the Abbe, picking up the letter which Reine had thrown down, after reading it, with a gesture of sickened disgust.

She appeared not to hear him.  She had buried her face in her hands, to hide the flushing of her cheeks, and sat motionless, altogether crushed beneath the shameful revelation; convulsive sobs and tremblings occasionally agitating her frame.

“You can now understand,” continued the priest, “how the announcement of this projected marriage stunned and terrified me.  I could not confide to Claudet the reason for my stupefaction, and I should have been thankful if you could have understood so that I could have spared you this cruel mortification, but you would not take any intimation from me.  And now, forgive me for inflicting this cross upon you, and bear it with courage, with Christian fortitude.”