ed to sweeping reflections, judging creation at a bound,
muttered contemptuously: "What bosh all that sort of thing is!"

The rustle of a dress made him start. It was she.

He rose, and advanced quickly. She did not hold out her hand, but
murmured in a low voice: "I have only a few moments. I must get back
home. Kneel down near me, so that we may not be noticed." And she
advanced up the aisle, seeking a safe and suitable spot, like a woman
well acquainted with the place. Her face was hidden by a thick veil, and
she walked with careful footsteps that could scarcely be heard.

When she reached the choir she turned, and muttered, in that mysterious
tone of voice we always assume in church: "The side aisles will be
better. We are too much in view here."

She bowed low to the high altar, turned to the right, and returned a
little way towards the entrance; then, making up her mind, she took a
chair and knelt down. George took possession of the next one to her, and
as soon as they were in an attitude of prayer, began: "Thanks; oh,
thanks; I adore you! I should like to be always telling you so, to tell
you how I began to love you, how I was captivated the first time I saw
you. Will you allow me some day to open my heart to tell you all this?"

She listened to him in an attitude of deep meditation, as if she heard
nothing. She replied between her fingers: "I am mad to allow you to
speak to me like this, mad to have come here, mad to do what I am doing,
mad to let you believe that--that--this adventure can have any issue.
Forget all this; you must, and never speak to me again of it."

She paused. He strove to find an answer, decisive and passionate words,
but not being able to join action to words, was partially paralyzed. He
replied: "I expect nothing, I hope for nothing. I love you. Whatever you
may do, I will repeat it to you so often, with such power and ardor,
that you will end by understanding it. I want to make my love penetrate
you, to pour it into your soul, word by word, hour by hour, day by day,
so that at length it impregnates you like a liquid, falling drop by
drop; softens you, mollifies you, and obliges you later on to reply to
me: 'I love you, too.'"

He felt her shoulder trembling against him and her bosom throbbing, and
she stammered, abruptly: "I love you, too!"

He started as though he had received a blow, and sighed: "Good God."

She replied, in panting tones: "Ought I to have told you that? I feel I