at to do. She
hesitated to comply with the priest's desire, and, on the other hand, she
was afraid lest Marianne, or some neighbour, should happen to wake and
catch the Cure of the village making signs, at that unseasonable hour,
before her door, during her father's absence. God only knew what a scandal
there would be then! and as tongues would wag, her father perhaps might
hear of it, and what explanation could she give? already they were
beginning to chatter about her absence from the services and their meetings
on the road.

She was seized with terror and ran to put out the lamp, calculating that
the Cure would withdraw.

But the Cure of Althausen had not undertaken this adventurous expedition to
abandon it at the moment when he was attaining his object. Excited by the
alcohol, by the dishabille of the charming young girl, and by all that he
had just caught a sight of, emboldened by the night and the solitary place,
he was waiting with impatience.

Therefore when Suzanne, trembling all over, drew near a second time to see
if he was gone, he was at the same place, still bowing to her and calling
her by signs. He was not tired, and with perfectly clerical obstinacy,
multiplied his salutes and his signs.

She said to herself that there was doubtless some important motive for him
to have decided, in spite of dangers and the proprieties, to require an
interview with her in the middle of the night "Good God! could some
misfortune have happened to my father?" The thought oppressed her mind. She
hesitated no longer, put on a light petticoat, threw a shawl over her
shoulders, and went downstairs.

LXXI.

THE BREACH.

"Who art thou, who knockest so
loudly. Art thou Great Love, to whom
all must yield, for whom heroes sacrificed
(more than life) their very heart ...
Ah, if thou art he, let the door be
opened wide."

MICHELET (_L'Amour_).

She saw at once that he was all in a fever.

--What has happened? she said. You have seen my father?

--Nothing has happened, Mademoiselle; as to your father, I saw him this
morning getting into a carriage: I believe that he is well.

--But what is it then? what is it? do not hide anything from me.

--I am hiding nothing from you, Mademoiselle, nothing grievous has
happened. Be comforted. I was passing by in my walk, I saw the light, I
observed you, your window was partly open. I stopped and said to myself:
Perhaps I can make a sign to Mademoiselle Duran