e was in deep thought. When he began shaving
again he cut himself three times from his nose to his ear.

All day long he was silent, full of anger and indignation. To his
priestly hatred of this invincible love was added the exasperation of
her spiritual father, of her guardian and pastor, deceived and tricked
by a child, and the selfish emotion shown by parents when their daughter
announces that she has chosen a husband without them, and in spite of
them.

After dinner he tried to read a little, but could not, growing more and,
more angry. When ten o'clock struck he seized his cane, a formidable
oak stick, which he was accustomed to carry in his nocturnal walks when
visiting the sick. And he smiled at the enormous club which he twirled
in a threatening manner in his strong, country fist. Then he raised it
suddenly and, gritting his teeth, brought it down on a chair, the broken
back of which fell over on the floor.

He opened the door to go out, but stopped on the sill, surprised by the
splendid moonlight, of such brilliance as is seldom seen.

And, as he was gifted with an emotional nature, one such as had all
those poetic dreamers, the Fathers of the Church, he felt suddenly
distracted and moved by all the grand and serene beauty of this pale
night.

In his little garden, all bathed in soft light, his fruit trees in a
row cast on the ground the shadow of their slender branches, scarcely
in full leaf, while the giant honeysuckle, clinging to the wall of
his house, exhaled a delicious sweetness, filling the warm moonlit
atmosphere with a kind of perfumed soul.

He began to take long breaths, drinking in the air as drunkards
drink wine, and he walked along slowly, delighted, marveling, almost
forgetting his niece.

As soon as he was outside of the garden, he stopped to gaze upon the
plain all flooded with the caressing light, bathed in that tender,
languishing charm of serene nights. At each moment was heard the short,
metallic note of the cricket, and distant nightingales shook out their
scattered notes--their light, vibrant music that sets one dreaming,
without thinking, a music made for kisses, for the seduction of
moonlight.

The abbe walked on again, his heart failing, though he knew not why.
He seemed weakened, suddenly exhausted; he wanted to sit down, to rest
there, to think, to admire God in His works.

Down yonder, following the undulations of the little river, a great line
of poplars wound in and o