appy days at the
seminary, and his first Masses in that burning valley of Les Artaud,
where he had dreamt of a solitary, saintly life. He had always heard it
speaking to him as it was doing now. He recognised every inflection of
that sacred voice, which had so constantly fallen upon his ears, like
the grave and gentle voice of a mother. Why had he so long ceased to
hear it? In former times it had promised him the coming of Mary. Had
Mary come then and taken him and carried him off into those happy green
fastnesses, which the sound of the bell could not reach? He would never
have lapsed into forgetfulness if the bell had not ceased to ring. And
as he bent his head still lower towards the earth, the contact of his
beard with his hands made him start. He could not recognise his own self
with that long silky beard. He twisted it and fumbled about in his hair
seeking for the bare circle of the tonsure, but a heavy growth of curls
now covered his whole head from his brow to the nape of his neck.

'Ah! you were right,' he said, casting a look of despair at Albine.
'It was forbidden. We have sinned, and we have merited some terrible
punishment.... But I, indeed, I tried to reassure you, I did not hear
the threats which sounded in your ears through the branches.'

Albine tried to clasp him in her arms again as she sobbed out, 'Get up,
and let us escape together. Perhaps even yet there is time for us to
love each other.'

'No, no; I haven't the strength. I should stumble and fall over the
smallest pebble in the path. Listen to me. I am afraid of myself. I know
not what man dwells in me. I have murdered myself, and my hands are red
with blood. If you took me away, you would never see aught in my eyes
save tears.'

She kissed his wet eyes, as she answered passionately, 'No matter! Do
you love me?'

He was too terrified to answer her. A heavy step set the pebbles rolling
on the other side of the wall. A growl of anger seemed to draw nigh.
Albine had not been mistaken. Some one was, indeed, there, disturbing
the woodland quiet with jealous inquisition. Then both Albine and Serge,
as if overwhelmed with shame, sought to bide themselves behind a bush.
But Brother Archangias, standing in front of the breach, could already
see them.

The Brother remained for a moment silent, clenching his fists and
looking at Albine clinging round Serge's neck, with the disgust of a man
who has espied some filth by the roadside.

'I suspected it