term. You would be compelled to wait until then, madame;
and even then--"

She understood him at last.

"So," she said, turning pale, "you refuse to receive my son. Do you
refuse also to tell me why?"

"Madame," answered the priest, "I would have given much if this
explanation could have been avoided. But since you force it upon me, I
must inform you that this institution, whose head I am, exacts from
the families who confide their children to us the most unexceptionable
conduct and the strictest morality. In Paris there are many laical
institutions where your little Jack will receive every care, but with
us it would be impossible. I beg of you," he added, with a gesture of
indignant protestation, "do not make me explain further. I have no right
to question you, no right to reproach you. I regret the pain I am now
giving, and believe me when I say that my words are as painful to myself
as to you."

While the priest spoke, over the countenance of Madame de Barancy
flitted shadows of anger, grief, and confusion. At first she tried to
brave it out, throwing her head back disdainfully; but the kind words of
the priest falling on her childish soul made her burst suddenly into a
passion of sobs and tears.

"She was so unhappy," she cried, "no one could ever know all she had
done for that child! Yes, the poor little fellow had no name, no father,
but was that any reason why a crime should be made of his misfortune,
and that he should be made responsible for the faults of his parents?
Ah! M. l'Abbe, I beg of you--"

As she spoke she took the priest's hand. The good father sought to
disengage it with some little embarrassment.

"Be calm, dear madame," he cried, terrified by these tears and outcries,
for she wept, like the child that she was, with vehement sobs, and
with the abandonment in fact of a somewhat coarse nature. The poor man
thought, "What could I do with her if this lady should be taken ill?"

But the words he used to calm her only excited her more.

She wished to justify herself, to explain things, to narrate the story
of her life, and, willing or not, the Superior found himself compelled
to follow her through an obscure recital, whose connecting thread she
broke at every step, without looking to see how she should ever get back
again to the light.

The name of Barancy was not hers, but if she should tell him her name,
he would be astonished. The honor of one of the oldest families in
France was concerne