"This is a most abominable sinner," said Father Tout-a-tous. "You should tell me the name of this vile man. He must certainly be some Jansenist. I will inform against him to his reverence, Father de la Chaise, who will place him in the situation of your dear beloved intended bridegroom."
The poor girl, after much hesitation and embarrassment, at length mentioned St. Pouange.
"My lord St. Pouange!" cried the Jesuit, "ah! my child, the case is quite different. He is cousin to the greatest minister we have ever had; a man of worth, a protector of the good cause, a good Christian. He could not entertain such a thought. You certainly must have misunderstood him."
"Oh! father, I did but understand him too well. I am lost on whichever side I turn. The only alternative I have to choose is misery or shame; either my lover must be buried alive, or I must make myself unworthy of living. I cannot let him perish, nor can I save him."
Father Tout-a-tous endeavored to console her with these gentle expressions:
"In the first place, my child, never use the word 'lover.' It intimates something worldly, which may offend God. Say 'my husband.' You consider him as such, and nothing can be more decent.
"Secondly: Though he be ideally your husband, and you are in hopes he will be such eventually, yet he is not so in reality; consequently you are still free and the mistress of your own conduct.
