accustomed to such queer establishments; he knew all
about it. He was quite at home there. This privilege of being everywhere
at home is the prerogative of kings, courtesans, and thieves.

"When you feel quite well," this strange priest went on after a pause,
"you must tell me the reasons which prompted you to commit this last
crime, this attempted suicide."

"My story is very simple, Father," replied she. "Three months ago I was
living the evil life to which I was born. I was the lowest and vilest
of creatures; now I am only the most unhappy. Excuse me from telling you
the history of my poor mother, who was murdered----"

"By a Captain, in a house of ill-fame," said the priest, interrupting
the penitent. "I know your origin, and I know that if a being of your
sex can ever be excused for leading a life of shame, it is you, who have
always lacked good examples."

"Alas! I was never baptized, and have no religious teaching."

"All may yet be remedied then," replied the priest, "provided that your
faith, your repentance, are sincere and without ulterior motive."

"Lucien and God fill my heart," said she with ingenuous pathos.

"You might have said God and Lucien," answered the priest, smiling. "You
remind me of the purpose of my visit. Omit nothing that concerns that
young man."

"You have come from him?" she asked, with a tender look that would have
touched any other priest! "Oh, he thought I should do it!"

"No," replied the priest; "it is not your death, but your life that we
are interested in. Come, explain your position toward each other."

"In one word," said she.

The poor child quaked at the priest's stern tone, but as a woman quakes
who has long ceased to be surprised at brutality.

"Lucien is Lucien," said she, "the handsomest young man, the kindest
soul alive; if you know him, my love must seem to you quite natural. I
met him by chance, three months ago, at the Porte-Saint-Martin theatre,
where I went one day when I had leave, for we had a day a week at Madame
Meynardie's, where I then was. Next day, you understand, I went out
without leave. Love had come into my heart, and had so completely
changed me, that on my return from the theatre I did not know myself:
I had a horror of myself. Lucien would never have known. Instead of
telling him what I was, I gave him my address at these rooms, where a
friend of mine was then living, who was so kind as to give them up to
me. I swear on my sacred word----"