r all that had been done to her; little able to
understand the very things that had brought her into such sore
trouble. When, before confession, she spoke of Girard's kisses, the
Carmelite roughly said, "But those are very great sins."

"O God!" she answered, weeping, "I am lost indeed, for he has done
much more than that to me!"

The bishop came to see. For him the country-house was only the length
of a walk. She answered his questions artlessly, told him at least how
things began. The bishop was angry, mortified, very wroth. No doubt he
guessed the remainder. There was nought to keep him from raising a
great outcry against Girard. Not caring for the danger of a struggle
with the Jesuits, he entered thoroughly into the Carmelite's views,
allowed that she was bewitched, and added that _Girard himself was the
wizard_. He wanted to lay him that very moment under a solemn ban, to
bring him to disgrace and ruin. Cadiere prayed for him who had done
her so much wrong; vengeance she would not have. Falling on her knees
before the bishop, she implored him to spare Girard, to speak no more
of things so sorrowful. With touching humility, she said, "It is
enough for me to be enlightened at last, to know that I was living in
sin." Her Jacobin brother took her part, foreseeing the perils of such
a war, and doubtful whether the bishop would stand fast.

Her attacks of disorder were now fewer. The season had changed. The
burning summer was over. Nature at length showed mercy. It was the
pleasant month of October. The bishop had the keen delight of feeling
that she had been saved by him. No longer under Girard's influence in
the stifling air of Ollioules, but well cared-for by her family, by
the brave and honest monk, protected, too, by the bishop, who never
grudged his visits, and who shielded her with his steady countenance,
the young girl became altogether calm.

For seven weeks or so she seemed quite well-behaved. The bishop's
happiness was so great that he wanted the Carmelite, with Cadiere's
help, to look after Girard's other penitents, and bring them also back
to their senses. They should go to the country-house; how unwillingly,
and with how ill a grace we can easily guess. In truth, it was
strangely ill-judged to bring those women before the bishop's ward, a
girl so young still, and but just delivered from her own ecstatic
ravings.

The state of things became ridiculous and sorely embittered. Two
parties faced each other