"Then you must forbid the girl the house," said the priest, sternly. "You can easily invent a plausible pretext for that, I am sure. Thank her for her services, and--" "No, no, I should never have the courage to do that," said the countess, quickly. "Is it not hard enough for me that my other daughter, whose affection would have been so consoling in this trying hour, is in a foreign land, mourning the loss of the father of whom she was so suddenly bereft? And who knows, perhaps Ernestine, too, is dying as I am. Poor child! She was so weak and frail when she went away! Oh, was there ever a mother as much to be pitied as I am?" And two burning tears fell from Madame de Beaumesnil's eyes. "Calm yourself, my sister," said the abbe, soothingly; "do not grieve so. Put your trust in Heaven. Our Saviour's mercy is great. He has sustained you through this solemn ceremony, which was, as I told you, merely a precaution, for, God be praised! your condition, though alarming, is by no means hopeless." Madame de Beaumesnil shook her head sadly, as she replied: "I am growing weaker fast, my father, but now that my last duties are performed I feel much calmer. Ah, if I did not have my children to think of, I could die in peace." "I understand you, my sister," said the priest, soothingly. Then watching Madame de Beaumesnil's face closely all the while, he continued: "I understand you, my sister. The future of your child, your legitimate child,--I cannot and must not speak of the other,--her future excites your liveliest apprehensions--and you are right--an orphan--and so young, poor child!" "Alas! yes, a mother's place can never be filled." "Then why do you hesitate, my sister?" said the abbe, slowly and impressively, "why do you hesitate to assure this beloved daughter's future happiness? Why have you never permitted me--though I have long desired the favour--to introduce to you that good and devout young man, that model of wisdom and virtue, of whom I have so often spoken. Your mother's heart would long since have appreciated this paragon of Christian virtues; and sure, in advance, of your daughter's obedience to your last wishes, you could have recommended him to her by a few lines, which I myself would have delivered to the poor child. You could easily have advised her to take for her husband M. Celestin de Macreuse. Your daughter would then be sure of a most estimable and devout husband, for--" "My father," interrupted Madame de Beaumesnil, without making any effort to conceal the painful feelings that this conversation was awakening. "I have told you that I do not doubt the great worth of this gentleman you have so often mentioned to me, but my daughter Ernestine is not sixteen yet, and I am not willing to insist upon her marrying a man she does not even know, for the dear child has so much affection for me that she would be quite capable of sacrificing herself to please me."