“She is even more to be pitied than you think. You have not seen her, I believe, since last week.” “Yes--she came. She has kept up, thank God, some of her religious duties.” “For all that, she has played a leading part in a recent scandal.” The Abbe sprang up from his chair. “A duel has taken place because of her, and her name is in all men’s mouths--whispered, of course--but the quarrel took place at the Club. You know what it is to be talked of at the Club.” “The poison of asps,” growled the Abbe; “oh! those clubs--think of all the evil reports concocted in them, of which women are the victims!” “In the present case the evil report was pure calumny. It was taken up by some one whom you also know--Frederic d’Argy.” “I have had profound respect these many years for his excellent and pious mother.” “I thought so. In that case, Monsieur l’Abbe, you would not object to going to Madame d’Argy’s house and asking how her son is.” “No, of course not; but--it is my duty to disapprove--” “You will tell her that when a young man has compromised a young girl by defending her reputation in a manner too public, there is but one thing he can do afterward-marry her.” “Wait one moment,” said the Abbe, who was greatly surprised; “it is certain that a good marriage would be the best thing for Jacqueline. I have been thinking of it. But I do not think I could so suddenly--so soon after--” “Today at four o’clock, Monsieur l’Abbe. Time presses. You can add that such a marriage is the only way to stop a second duel, which will otherwise take place.” “Is it possible?” “And it is also the only way to bring Frederic to decide on sending in his resignation. Don’t forget that--it is important.” “But how do you know--” The poor Abbe stammered out his words, and counted on his fingers the arguments he was desired to make use of. “And you will solemnly assure them that Jacqueline is innocent.” “Oh! as to that, there are wolves in sheeps’ clothing, as the Bible tells us; but believe me, when such poor young things are in question, it is more often the sheep which has put on the appearance of a wolf--to seem in the fashion,” added the Abbe, “just to seem in the fashion. Fashion will authorize any kind of counterfeiting.” “Well, you will say all that, will you not, to Madame d’Argy? It will be very good of you if you will. She will make no difficulties about money. All she wants is a quietly disposed daughter-in-law who will be willing to pass nine months of the year at Lizerolles, and Jacqueline is quite cured of her Paris fever.” “A fever too often mortal,” murmured the Abbe; “oh, for the simplicity of nature! A priest whose lot is cast in the country is fortunate, Madame, but we can not choose our vocation. We may do good anywhere, especially in cities. Are you sure, however, that Jacqueline--” “She loves Monsieur d’Argy.”