174

THE TERRIBLE IMPLICATION.

"Heretical books: the spawn of Beelzebub-the corrupting remnants of the German heresiarch, whom God confound!"

"Are you sure of this, Father?"

"Here is one of them, which she dropped in her place at church."

This was false. Adele had not dropped it; the Jesuit obtained it by other means, of which more anon.

"Oh, what a wretched girl! Father, I am horrified at what you say."

"Not content with perverting herself, she has vitiated the minds of others. I now know, for certain, that it was Mlle. Adele who induced the man Perryer to turn Protestant.”

"You say so, Father?"

"I say so. I have questioned the man in his prison, and he admits as much. I have hitherto been unable to reclaim him. His confinement has not had the effect contemplated, but apparently the reverse. He is firmer than we imagined."

"And my daughter is a heretic ?"

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Very much like it, certainly. You have allowed her too much liberty, M. Duplessis. Restraint is necessary to all, but much more to young women: if you don't keep an eye on them, they will soon imagine there are no eyes at all; and then comes the faux-pas. Now, it is precisely when people wish to indulge some vicious propensity, that they turn Protestant. Well, you must apply the remedy

* Here the Jesuit expresses the constant scoff of ultra Catholics, respecting those who cease to be Roman Catholics. It is a terrible implication.

ADELE IS SUMMONED.

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before the disease becomes incurable. You have pledged your word to M. Gramont; fulfil your engagement without delay. You have the authority, have you not?"

"I'll exert it, Father--I will; I will without delay. But the message, Father?"

"I must deliver it to herself."

"You shall, instantly. I must see to the bottom of it."

M. Duplessis ordered his daughter to be called. After the lapse of a few minutes Adele appeared. She had evidently been weeping. Her eyes were inflamed; her face was pale. At the sight of the Jesuit, and the angry looks of her father, she trembled for an instant; but soon recovered her selfpossession.

She curtesied to the Father. A momentary pause ensued. The Jesuit began, slowly-solemnly, as it were—plaintively,

"Mlle. Adele, I bring you a message from a dying man-the Count Valremy; who died this morning, in consequence of a wound received in a duel last night."

Adele shuddered; for she had received Leonard's letter. The Jesuit marked the effect, paused, and went on,

"Neither your father nor myself can make out its import; perhaps you will, if you think proper, enlighten us on the subject. on the subject. When daughters neither respect their father, nor seek the spiritual

176

THE MORAL STOMACH PUMP.

advice of religion's ministers, what fate must they not expect?"

"Is it possible that you have deceived me?" vociferated M. Duplessis, brandishing his extended

arm.

"Be moderate, my son," interposed the Jesuit; "Mlle. Adele feels that she has done wrong. We may all do wrong in our turns; 't is quite natural. Yes, she feels that she has been imprudent, very im prudent; but a kind, indulgent father will overlook the past, if the future be more promising; and yet, daughter, in our present doubts, what opinion would you have us form concerning your conduct in this most extraordinary matter? It may be painful to admit the truth; but only think of the dreadful surmises that we are compelled to entertain respecting your extraordinary conduct. Your good name, that pearl of woman's virtue; your reputation, which is to you all in life-absolutely all. Oh! what is to become of your reputation, if you do not confide"

"Oh, my dear father!" exclaimed Adele, terrified at these vile, most fictitious insinuations, and cunning snares; "yes, yes, I will tell you all. I am not ashamed of myself; I have no reason to be so. If I am basely slandered, still I am innocent; and God will punish my slanderers."

Adele sank on a chair, sobbing violently. The Jesuit continued,

"God be blessed! dear daughter, for that assu

ance. For thus much we are duly grateful to Heaven, whence is all our strength. We cannot expect you to explain all the circumstances that have led to these unfounded reports; though, believe me, the explanation would, we are sure, lead incontrovertibly to your exculpation."

"Oh, sir, your expectation shall be realized; I am ready to admit all. I am not ashamed to admit that I loved, and love, a man whom I deem worthy of all love; a man who loves me entirely; a man for whom I would die-yes, die-rather than wed M. Gramont, whom I have never loved, but only endured, in deference to my father's wish. I confess my adoration for the man of my choice-I exult in the confession; and yet I call God to witness, my love is pure-I love him as my destined husband, if it should please God to bless my ardent hopes with this beginning."

The Jesuit and the father were struck dumb at the girl's impassioned address. She went on,

Yes, I'll explain what you mean, M. Maugras; 't is easily explained. Doubtless, M. Gramont is my calumniator. I went to meet my lover. We had mutually pledged ourselves; he had inspired me with confidence in his honour. Why should I hesitate?—I went. He was prevented, by illness, from fulfilling his engagement in person; he sent his friend to convey me to the place where we were to be married. M. Gramont skulked after me, and surprised me at the very moment when I met my lover's friend. He supposed him to be Mr. Devigne,

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and has committed murder; whereas, I am innocent. Now you know all."

The father stared. The Jesuit smiled; for had he not succeeded in extracting the desired explanation? He said,

"We are satisfied, dear daughter; and now we congratulate you, on the part of Heaven, for having escaped a dreadful fate.”

"Rather commiserate my misfortune, sir; for I should have now been happy and contented."

you a message.

"Listen, Mlle. Adele. You forget that I bring The man who was killed last night was the Count Valremy. You shudder again ; you have reason. The wretch, in his last moments, sent for me. He confessed his iniquities. May God forgive him, if he sincerely repented!"

Adele gasped with excitement-gasped to hear the message.

"He told me he begged me-he conjured me, to repeat to you these words: He said,

"Tell Mlle. Duplessis that she is deceived in her lover. Devigne means her no good. He is unworthy of her; he meditates her ruin.""

""Tis false! I believed it not," exclaimed the generous girl, with emotion. "No, no; he is truth

itself-he would not dishonour me. He is slandered."

"But let me finish," interrupted the Jesuit. "Tell her (if, with the natural perversity of women in loving what they should hate, she disregard my warning) that his illness was a fiction-a fiction suggested by my