nsieur Marcel had not
given me any bad advice, I ask you to believe.

--So it is true then; you have spoken to this man: unknown to me, in
secret.

--I had no secret to make of it. I went to confession, that is all, as I
was accustomed to do at school.

--Confession! what, good Heavens! You went and knelt before that rascal,
after what I have told you concerning all his like!

--All priests are not alike.

--Ah! you are under his influence already. Doubtless, he is the pearl, the
model, the saint. Thunder of Heaven! my daughter too, but you do not know
that your mother died of remorse of soul because she found a saint, a model
of virtue in that black crew of scoundrels. Stay, be silent, you make me
say too much.

--I don't understand you.

--I will be obeyed and not questioned. Have I the right to expect that from
my daughter?

--You have every right, father.

--Well, I forbid you for the future to put your foot inside the church.

--In truth, father, would not one say that you were talking of some
ill-reputed place?

--Worse than that. Those who enter a place of ill-repute, know beforehand
where they go and to what they expose themselves, which the little fools
who frequent churches never know.

Suzanne made no reply and went down into the garden.

The old governess who bad brought her up and who loved her tenderly, came
to meet her.

--Your father is after the Cures again. What can these poor people of God
have done to the man?

They walked a long time round the kitchen-garden, then they sat down under
an arbour of honeysuckle.

--What time is it, Marianne? the young girl said all at once, fixing her
eyes on the window of her father's room.

--It is late, my child, it is ten o'clock at least; everybody in the
village has gone to bed. Come, your father has finished his newspaper,
there is no longer any light in his room; he has just blown out his lamp.
Let us go in.

They were near the little back-gate which led out to the meadows. Suzanne
opened it cautiously: "No, let us go out," she said.

XXXV.

THE SHELTER.

"Is it a chance? No. And besides;
chance, what is it after all but the
effect of a cause which escapes us?"

ERCHMAN-CHATRIAN (_Contes fantastiques_).

As soon as Marcel had recognized Suzanne, he did not take time to reflect,
and say to himself:

"What is it you are going to do, idiot?" He ran downstairs, stumbling like
a drunken man, and gently opened the do