st can do many things;
he knows how to comfort souls, it is the most precious of his gifts. Do not
hesitate to confide your griefs to the priest, to the friend.

He sat down, facing her, waiting for her to speak. But she remained silent;
he only heard the rapid breathing of the young girl, and the storm which
raged in his own heart.

At length he broke the silence.

--Mademoiselle, dear young lady, he said with his most insinuating voice,
do you lack confidence then in me? Ah! I see but too well, your father's
prejudices have left their marks.

--Do not believe it, she cried eagerly, do not believe it.

--Thank you, dear young lady. I should so much wish to have your
confidence. And in whom could you better repose it? What others could
receive more discreetly than ourselves the trust of secret sufferings? Ah,
that is one of the benefits of our holy religion; it is on that account
that she is the consolation of those who are sad, the relief of those
who suffer, the refuge of the humble and the weak, the joy of all the
afflicted. Her strong arms are open to all human kind; but how small is
the number of the chosen who wish to profit by this maternal tenderness.
Be one of that number, dear child, come to us, to us who stretch out our
arms to you, to me, who now say to you: "Open your heart to me, confide
to me your troubles. However sick your soul may be, mine will understand
it."

The priest's voice was troubled, and it went to the bottom of Suzanne's
heart. She cast on him a look full of compassion: You are unhappy, she
asked.

--Do not say that, do not say that! Unhappy! yes, I may have been so, but
now I am so no longer. Are you not there? Has not your presence caused all
the dark clouds to fly away? No, I am no longer unhappy; it would be a
blasphemy to say so, when God has permitted you, by some way or other of
his mysterious and infinite wisdom, to come and bring happiness to my
hearth!

--Happiness! I bring happiness to you! But who am I? a little girl just out
of school, who knows nothing of life.

--And that is what makes you more charming. You are a rose which the breath
of morning, pure as it is, has not yet touched. Life! dear child, do not
seek to know it too soon. It is a vale of tears, and those who know it best
are those who have suffered most deception and weeping.

--But a priest is safe from deception and sorrows....

--Ah, Mademoiselle, you with that clear and honest look, you do not know