be united. If the Church and the chateau support each
other, the cottage will fear and obey us."

Jeanne's religion was simply a matter of sentiment; she had merely the
dreamy faith that a woman never quite loses, and if she performed any
religious duties at all it was only because she had been so used to
them at the convent, for the baron's carping philosophy had long ago
overthrown all her convictions. The Abbe Picot had always been contented
with the little she did do, and never chid her for not confessing or
attending mass oftener; but when the Abbe Tolbiac did not see her at
church on the Sunday, he hastened to the chateau to question and
reprimand her. She did not wish to quarrel with the cure, so she
promised to be more attentive to the services, inwardly resolving to go
regularly only for a few weeks, out of good nature.

Little by little, however, she fell into the habit of frequenting the
church, and, in a short time, she was entirely under the influence of
the delicate-looking, strong-willed priest. His zeal and enthusiasm
appealed to her love of everything pertaining to mysticism, and he
seemed to make the chord of religious poetry, which she possessed in
common with every woman, vibrate within her. His austerity, his contempt
for every luxury and sensuality, his disdain for the things that usually
occupy the thoughts of men, his love of God, his youthful, intolerant
inexperience, his scathing words, his inflexible will made Jeanne
compare him, in her mind, to the early martyrs; and she, who had already
suffered so much, whose eyes had been so rudely opened to the deceptions
of life, let herself be completely ruled by the rigid fanaticism of this
boy who was the minister of Heaven. He led her to the feet of Christ the
Consoler, teaching her how the holy joys of religion could alleviate all
her sorrows, and, as she knelt in the confessional she humbled herself
and felt little and weak before this priest, who looked about fifteen
years old.

Soon he was detested by the whole country-side. With no pity for his
own weaknesses, he showed a violent intolerance for those of others. The
thing above all others that roused his anger and indignation was--love.
He denounced it from the pulpit in crude, ecclesiastical terms,
thundering out terrible judgments against concupiscence over the heads
of his rustic audience; and, as the pictures he portrayed in his fury
persistently haunted his mind, he trembled with rage and