"We had all ceased to weep, we were reconciled and of peaceable, quiet hearts, when Lacoste entered in the midst of our pathetic emotion and religious conversation. Beauvais made known to him what he had learned from Lucy, and that he (Lacoste) must quit our society in order that he might not disturb the happiness of the lovers and their approaching marriage, perhaps even render it impossible. This blow fell unexpectedly on the unfortunate Lacoste; his whole emaciated, care-worn frame trembled violently as if in convulsions, he was unable for a long time to find words, and when at last they flowed from his colourless lips, he tried to persuade us, that such a sentence of banishment from former friends was at least too hard, that he was not able to subdue his passion so quickly, or entirely to get rid of his persuasions, but that he combated both, and would strive against them with still greater energy in our company. But Beauvais was on this day armed with manly courage and resolution, his intercourse hitherto with Lucy had made him too unhappy; he insisted on the immediate departure of the peace-destroyer; the Abbé Aubigny sided with him, the gentle Euphemie was anxious, and Lucy herself the most decided; I also joined in this chorus, and we all unanimously declared, as with one voice, that the godless one should no longer linger near us; it was our duty, the love of Christ itself required of us to banish him, because through his intercourse with us, our religion would be sullied, perhaps even endangered. When Lacoste perceived we were firm in our religious zeal, he left off prayers and humiliations, and a tremendous fury overcame the mortified man, his eyes flashed fire, and he cursed himself and us with the bitterest execrations--that we might never find happiness, that misery might pursue us, that Beauvais might reap nothing but grief and sorrow from this marriage, and that he might live to see calamity, distress, and crime on his dearest children."