than I have done. I was too unhappy: my whole being longed for
someone who would care for me. And when my friend the first time told me
that he loved me it was all over--I was his forever. Ah! to be loved, to
be spoken to gently, to have someone near you who is always solicitous
and amiable; to know that in absence he thinks of you, that there is a
heart somewhere in which you live... Ah! if it be a crime, Monsieur
l'Abbe, I cannot, cannot feel remorse for it. I will not even say that I
was urged to it; I simply say that it came to me as naturally as my
breath, because it was as necessary to my life!"

She had carried her hand to her lips as though to throw a kiss to the
world, and Pierre felt deeply disturbed in presence of this lovely woman,
who personified all the ardour of human passion, and at the same time a
feeling of deep pity began to arise within him.

"Poor woman!" he murmured.

"It is not to the priest that I am confessing," she resumed; "it is to
the man that I am speaking, to a man by whom I should greatly like to be
understood. No, I am not a believer: religion has not sufficed me. It is
said that some women find contentment in it, a firm protection even
against all transgressions. But I have ever felt cold in church, weary
unto death. Oh! I know very well that it is wrong to feign piety, to
mingle religion with my heart affairs. But what would you? I am forced to
it. If you saw me in Paris behind La Trinite it was because that church
is the only place to which I am allowed to go alone; and if you find me
here at Lourdes it is because, in the whole long year, I have but these
three days of happiness and freedom."

Again she began to tremble. Hot tears were coursing down her cheeks. A
vision of it all arose in Pierre's mind, and, distracted by the thought
of the ardent earthly love which possessed this unhappy creature, he
again murmured: "Poor woman!"

"And, Monsieur l'Abbe," she continued, "think of the hell to which I am
about to return! For weeks and months I live my life of martyrdom without
complaint. Another year, another year must go by without a day, an hour
of happiness! Ah! I am indeed very unhappy, Monsieur l'Abbe, yet do you
not think all the same that I am a good woman?"

He had been deeply moved by her sincere display of mingled grief and
passion. He felt in her the breath of universal desire--a sovereign
flame. And his compassion overflowed from his heart, and his words were
words of