“My child,” said the archbishop at last, raising his noble head, macerated by the customs of his austere life, “you are going beyond the commandments of the Church. The glory of the Church is to make her dogma conform to the habits and manners of each age; for the Church goes on from age to age in company with humanity. According to her present decision secret confession has taken the place of public confession. This substitution has made the new law. The sufferings you have endured suffice. Die in peace: God has heard you.” “But is not this desire of a guilty woman in conformity with the law of the first Church, which has enriched heaven with as many saints and martyrs and confessing souls as there are stars in the firmament?” persisted Veronique, vehemently. “Who said: _Confess yourselves to one another_? Was it not the disciples, who lived with the Saviour? Let me confess my shame publicly on my knees. It will redeem my sin to the world, to that family exiled and almost extinct through me. The world ought to know that my benefactions are not an offering, but the payment of a debt. Suppose that later, after my death, something tore from my memory the lying veil which covers me. Ah! that idea is more than I can bear, it is death indeed!” “I see in this too much of calculation, my child,” said the archbishop, gravely. “Passions are still too strong in you; the one I thought extinct is--” “Oh! I swear to you, Monseigneur,” she said, interrupting the prelate and fixing her eyes, full of horror, upon him, “my heart is as purified as that of a guilty and repentant woman can be; there is nothing now within me but the thought of God.” “Monseigneur,” said the rector in a tender voice, “let us leave celestial justice to take its course. It is now four years since I have strongly opposed this wish; it is the only difference that has ever come between my penitent and myself. I have seen to the depths of that soul, and I know this earth has no longer any hold there. Though the tears, the remorse, the contrition of fifteen years relate to the mutual sin of those two persons, believe me there are no remains of earthly passion in this long and terrible bewailing. Memory no longer mingles its flames with those of an ardent penitence. Yes, tears have at last extinguished that great fire. I guarantee,” he said, stretching his hand over Madame Graslin’s head, and letting his moistened eyes be seen, “I guarantee the purity of that angelic soul. And also I see in this desire the thought of reparation to an absent family, a member of which God has brought back here by one of those events which reveal His providence.” Veronique took the trembling hand of the rector and kissed it.