a stranger.

Unaccustomed to the world, he did not yet know women well enough to be
aware that they are full of indulgence for follies committed for their
sake, and more ready to excuse an insult than to pardon indifference. Under
these circumstances vanity takes the place of courage, and gives to the
commonest girl the instincts of a patrician. There is no ill-made woman but
wishes to see the world at her feet.

And the espionage which laid so heavy on him, became every day more
irritating and more insupportable.

In vain he fled from the house, and walked on straight before him; far,
very far, as far as possible, he felt his servant's gaze following him, and
weighing upon him with all the burden of her furious and clear-sighted
jealousy.

He felt that lynx eye pierce the walls and watch him everywhere, even when
he had put between himself and the parsonage, the streets, the gardens, the
width of the village and the depth of the woods.

She received him on his return with a smile on her lips, but her eager eye
searched him from head to foot, studied his looks, his gestures, the folds
of his cassock and even the dust on his shoes; as though she wished to
strip him and bare his heart in order to feast upon his secret conflicts.

XLIV.

THE GARRET WINDOW.

"Do I direct my love? It directs me.
And I could abide it if I would!...
And I would, after all, that I could not."

V. SARDOU (_Nos Intimes_).

Other days passed, and then others.

From a garret-window in the loft of the parsonage, the eye commanded a view
of the whole village. Over the roofs could be seen the house of Captain
Durand, quite at the bottom of the hill. Marcel went up there several
times, and with his gaze fixed on that white wall which concealed the sweet
object which had torn from him his tranquillity and his peaceful toil, he
forgot himself and was lost in his thoughts.

Then his eyes wandered over the verdant plain, and the length of the stream
edged with willows which wound along as far as the wood, side by side with
the little path, where often he had met with Suzanne.

Sometimes the keen April wind blew violently through the ill-closed timber
and the cracks of the roofing. It shook the joists and filled the loft with
that shrill sinister sound, which is like an echo of the lamentable
complaint of the dead, and it appeared to him that these groanings of the
tempest mingled with the groanings of his soul.

But he so