ath
by announcing the marriage ere long of Albert and Mademoiselle de
Watteville. The two letters, intended to cross on the road, had, in
fact, done so. The infernal cleverness with which the letters were
written so much astonished the Vicar-General that he read them a second
time. Francesca, stabbed to the heart by a girl who wanted to kill love
in her rival, had answered the last in these four words: "You are free.
Farewell."

"Purely moral crimes, which give no hold to human justice, are the most
atrocious and detestable," said the Abbe severely. "God often punishes
them on earth; herein lies the reason of the terrible catastrophes which
to us seem inexplicable. Of all secret crimes buried in the mystery of
private life, the most disgraceful is that of breaking the seal of a
letter, or of reading it surreptitiously. Every one, whoever it may be,
and urged by whatever reason, who is guilty of such an act has stained
his honor beyond retrieving.

"Do you not feel all that is touching, that is heavenly in the story of
the youthful page, falsely accused, and carrying the letter containing
the order for his execution, who sets out without a thought of ill, and
whom Providence protects and saves--miraculously, we say! But do you
know wherein the miracle lies? Virtue has a glory as potent as that of
innocent childhood.

"I say these things not meaning to admonish you," said the old priest,
with deep grief. "I, alas! am not your spiritual director; you are not
kneeling at the feet of God; I am your friend, appalled by dread of what
your punishment may be. What has become of that unhappy Albert? Has
he, perhaps, killed himself? There was tremendous passion under his
assumption of calm. I understand now that old Prince Soderini, the
father of the Duchess d'Argaiolo, came here to take back his daughter's
letters and portraits. This was the thunderbolt that fell on Albert's
head, and he went off, no doubt, to try to justify himself. But how is
it that in fourteen months he has given us no news of himself?"

"Oh! if I marry him, he will be so happy!"

"Happy?--He does not love you. Besides, you have no great fortune to
give him. Your mother detests you; you made her a fierce reply which
rankles, and which will be your ruin. When she told you yesterday that
obedience was the only way to repair your errors, and reminded you of
the need for marrying, mentioning Amedee--'If you are so fond of him,
marry him yourself, mother!'--