declined our invitation, and So I come here to say it to M. le Curé."

"I am listening, mademoiselle," stammered the curé.

"I am rich, M. le Curé, and, to speak the truth, I like my money very much. I like it selfishly, so to say, for the joy and pleasure I have in giving. I have always said to myself, 'My husband must be worthy of sharing this fortune,' and I have also said, 'I want to love the man who will be my husband!' And now I am coming to my confession.... Here is a man who for two months has done all he could to hide from me that he loves me.... Jean, do you love me?"

"Yes," murmured Jean, his eyes cast down like a criminal, "I love you."

"I knew it." Bettina lost a little of her assurance; her voice trembled slightly. She continued, however, with an effort. "M. le Curé, I do not blame you entirely for what has happened, but certainly it is partly your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes, your fault. I am certain you have spoken to Jean too much of me, much too much. And then you have told me too much of him. No, not too much, but quite enough! I had so much confidence in you that I began to consider him a little more closely. I began to compare him with those who, for more than a year, have sought my hand. It seemed to me that he was their superior in every way. Then, there came a day... an evening... three weeks ago, the eve of your departure, Jean, and I found I loved you. Yes, Jean, I love you!... I beg you, Jean, be still; do not come near me.... I have still something to say, more important than all. I know that you love me, but if you are to marry me I want your reason to sanction it. Jean, I know you, and I know to what I should bind myself in becoming your wife. I know what duties, what sacrifices, you have to meet in your calling. Jean, do not doubt it, I would not turn you from any one of these duties, these sacrifices. Never! Never would I ask you to give up your career.

"And now, M. le Curé, it is not to him but to you that I speak. Tell me, should he not agree to be my husband?"

"Jean," said the old priest gravely, "marry her. It is your duty, and it will be your happiness."

Jean took Bettina in his arms, but she gently freed herself, and said to the abbé, "I wish--I wish your blessing." And the old priest replied by kissing her paternally.

One month later the abbé had the happiness of 

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