With each sentence he paused, in the hope that she might break in and discuss his proposition. But no; she sat there as if lifeless, seemingly benumbed with astonishment. “No doubt you have a child,” he resumed. “That is always a delicate matter to surmount. Still, you must admit that even in Jeanne’s interest a husband’s arm would be of great advantage. Of course, we must find some one good and honorable, who would be a true father—” However, she did not let him finish. With violent revolt and repulsion she suddenly spoke out: “No, no; I will not! Oh, my friend, how can you advise me thus? Never, do you hear, never!” Her whole heart was rising; she herself was frightened by the violence of her refusal. The priest’s proposal had stirred up that dim nook in her being whose secret she avoided reading, and, by the pain she experienced, she at last understood all the gravity of her ailment. With the open, smiling glance of the priest still bent on her, she plunged into contention. “No, no; I do not wish it! I love nobody!” And, as he still gazed at her, she imagined he could read her lie on her face. She blushed and stammered: “Remember, too, I only left off my mourning a fortnight ago. No, it could not be!” “My child!” quietly said the priest, “I thought over this a great deal before speaking. I am sure your happiness is wrapped up in it. Calm yourself; you need never act against your own wishes.” The conversation came to a sudden stop. Hélène strove to keep pent within her bosom the angry protests that were rushing to her lips. She resumed her work, and, with head lowered, contrived to put in a few stitches. And amid the silence, Jeanne’s shrill voice could be heard in the dining-room. “People don’t put a chicken to a carriage; it ought to be a horse! You don’t know how to make a horse, do you?” “No, my dear; horses are too difficult,” said Monsieur Rambaud. “But if you like I’ll show you how to make carriages.” This was always the fashion in which their game came to an end. Jeanne, all ears and eyes, watched her kindly playfellow folding the paper into a multitude of little squares, and afterwards she followed his example; but she would make mistakes and then stamp her feet in vexation. However, she already knew how to manufacture boats and bishops’ mitres. “You see,” resumed Monsieur Rambaud patiently, “you make four corners like that; then you turn them back—” With his ears on the alert, he must during the last moment have heard some of the words spoken in the next room; for his poor hands were now trembling more and more, while his tongue faltered, so that he could only half articulate his sentences. Hélène, who was unable to quiet herself, now began the conversation anew. “Marry again! And whom, pray?” she suddenly asked the priest, as she laid her work down on the table. “You have some one in view, have you not?” Abbé Jouve rose from his chair and stalked slowly up and down. Without halting, he nodded assent.