te that she could never reappear; and
again to-day she revives in adoration which is due to none but God."

"Was it not He who sent you to me?" said she.

"If during the course of your education you should even see Lucien, all
would be lost," he went on; "remember that."

"Who will comfort him?" said she.

"What was it that you comforted him for?" asked the priest, in a tone in
which, for the first time during this scene, there was a nervous quaver.

"I do not know; he was often sad when he came."

"Sad!" said the priest. "Did he tell you why?"

"Never," answered she.

"He was sad at loving such a girl as you!" exclaimed he.

"Alas! and well he might be," said she, with deep humility. "I am the
most despicable creature of my sex, and I could find favor in his eyes
only by the greatness of my love."

"That love must give you the courage to obey me blindly. If I were to
take you straight from hence to the house where you are to be educated,
everybody here would tell Lucien that you had gone away to-day, Sunday,
with a priest; he might follow in your tracks. In the course of a week,
the portress, not seeing me again, might suppose me to be what I am not.
So, one evening--this day week--at seven o'clock, go out quietly and
get into a cab that will be waiting for you at the bottom of the Rue des
Frondeurs. During this week avoid Lucien, find excuses, have him sent
from the door, and if he should come in, go up to some friend's room.
I shall know if you have seen him, and in that event all will be at an
end. I shall not even come back. These eight days you will need to make
up some suitable clothing and to hide your look of a prostitute," said
he, laying a purse on the chimney-shelf. "There is something in your
manner, in your clothes--something indefinable which is well known to
Parisians, and proclaims you what you are. Have you never met in the
streets or on the Boulevards a modest and virtuous girl walking with her
mother?"

"Oh yes, to my sorrow! The sight of a mother and daughter is one of
our most cruel punishments; it arouses the remorse that lurks in the
innermost folds of our hearts, and that is consuming us.--I know too
well all I lack."

"Well, then, you know how you should look next Sunday," said the priest,
rising.

"Oh!" said she, "teach me one real prayer before you go, that I may pray
to God."

It was a touching thing to see the priest making this girl repeat Ave
_Maria_ and _Paternoster_ in