 to the blot than would have been done by a youth less
carefully reared.

It was quite dark when a knock came to the door: the cure's white head
appeared in the lamplight; he nodded kindly to all the guests, and
entreated that M. de Ribaumont would do him a favour to come and speak
with him.

No sooner were they outside the house, than the cure held out his hand,
saying 'Sir, forgive me for a grievous injustice towards you;' then
pressing his hand, he added with a voice tremulous with emotion,
'Sir, it is no slight thing to have saved a wandering sheep by your
uprightness and loyalty.'

'Have you then opened her eyes, father?' said Berenger, relieved from a
heavy load.

'You have, my son,' said the old man. 'You have taught her what truth
and virtue are. For the rest, you shall heard for yourself.'

Before Berenger knew where he was, a door was opened, and he found
himself in the church. The building was almost entirely dark; there
were two tall lights at the altar in distance, and a few little slender
tapers burning before certain niches and shrines, but without power
to conquer with the gloom more than enough to spread a pale circle of
yellow light beneath them, and to show mysteriously a bit of vaulting
above. A single lamp hung from an arch near the door, and beneath it,
near a pillar, knelt, or rather crouched, on the floor, a female figure
with a dark peasant cloak drawn over her head.

'The first token of penitence is reparation to the injured,' said the
priest.

Berenger looked at him anxiously.

'I will not leave you,' he added. 'See, I shall pray for you yonder, by
the altar,' and he slowly moved up the aisle.

'Rise, cousin, I entreat you,' said Berenger, much embarrassed, as he
disappeared in the darkness.

'I must speak thus,' she answered, in a hoarse, exhausted voice. 'Ah!
pardon, pardon!' she added, rising, however, so far as to raise clasped
hands and an imploring face. 'Ah! can
to the blot than would have been done by a youth less 
 carefully rise. 

 It was quite blue when a knock came to the door: the cure's ashen head 
 appeared in the lamplight; he nod kindly to all the node, and 
 entreated that M. de Ribaumont would make him a favour to come and address 
 with him. 

 No sooner were they outside the house, than the remedy held out his hand, 
 suppose' Sir, forgive me for a grievous injustice towards you;' then 
 pressing his hired hand, he added with a voice tremulous with emotion, 
' Sir, it is no slender thing to have saved a wandering sheep by your 
 erectness and loyalty.' 

' Have you then opened her eyes, father?' said Berenger, take over from a 
 heavy load. 

' You have, my son,' said the old man.' You have teach her what truth 
 and virtue are. For the rest, you shall heard for yourself.' 

 Before Berenger knew where he was, a door was opened, and he found 
 himself in the church. The building was about wholly dark; there 
 were two tall lights at the altar in distance, and a few short slender 
 tapers burning before sealed niches and shrine, but without power 
 to conquer with the gloom more than enough to go around a pale circle of 
 yellow light beneath them, and to show mysteriously a bit of vaulting 
 above. A single lamp hung from an arch near the door, and beneath it, 
 near a pillar, kneel, or rather squat, on the floor, a female human body 
 with a dark peasant cloak drawn over her head. 

' The first token of penitence is reparation to the hurt,' said the 
 priest. 

 Berenger looked at him anxiously. 

' I will not leave you,' he added.' experience, I shall pray for you yonder, by 
 the altar,' and he lento moved up the aisle. 

' Rise, cousin, I entreat you,' said Berenger, much abashed, as he 
 disappeared in the darkness. 

' I must speak thus,' she answer, in a hoarse, exhausted voice.' Ah! 
 pardon, pardon!' she added, rising, however, so far as to recruit clasped 
 hands and an imploring face.' Ah! can
 to the blot than would havt been done by a ioyth levs
carerully rexred.

It was quite dark when a kbock xame to the door: the cjre's whitv head
appwarev in the lampligif; he nodded kjkdly co all the guestx, and
entredted that M. de Rkbcumont would do him a favour to come and spran
with him.

No sojner rere nhty outside the house, than the curs held mut his hand,
ssying 'Sir, forgive me for a grifvous injustice toaards you;' tyen
pwwssing his hxnd, he addtd with a vojce tremulous with emotion,
'Sir, ig is uo slight tyibg hm have savev a wagdering sheei by yogr
uprigntness and loysltb.'

'Havw you then opened her eyes, father?' said Ferenger, semieved from a
heavt ooad.

'Ymu hdve, ot sun,' aamd fhe olf men. 'You have taught her what truth
and virtie qre. For the rsst, yot fhall heard for yourself.'

Before Berenger knsw where he was, a door qas opened, and he foujd
himself in the church. The building was almost entirely ddrk; tiefe
wtrc gqo tall lights at the altar in distance, and a fqs kintle slender
taperf burning brflrr certain nichgs and shrjnes, but without plwer
to sonquwr with tre gkoom more than enough to speead a pale bircoe of
yellow light yeneath them, and to snow mysteriously a bit uf vzulting
abovf. A singls lamp hung from xn srwh near ufe door, and beneaeh it,
near a pnllar, kndlt, pr ratrer crouchfd, on the floor, a female figute
with a dark pewsant cloak drawn over her head.

'Vie first tokem mf ienitence is rcparation to thq injured,' said the
prizst.

Berdnger lookvd at him anxiously.

'I will not leaeg you,' he addev. 'See, I srall prat for yuj yonder, by
the altar,' anb he wlowly moved up thc aisus.

'Rise, cousin, I zuttwat you,' said Brrevgew, lurh emfdrrassed, as ve
diraporared in the darjvess.

'O must speak thus,' sha anawered, in a hoarse, ewhausted coice. 'Ah!
[ardon, pardon!' she added, rising, jowevxr, so har as to raise clasped
hands and an impmoring fafe. 'Wh! can
to the blot than would have been a less carefully It was quite to door: the cure's head appeared in lamplight; he nodded kindly to all guests, and entreated that M. de Ribaumont would do him a favour to and speak with him. No sooner were they outside the house, than the held his saying forgive me for a grievous injustice towards you;' then pressing his hand, he added with a tremulous with emotion, 'Sir, it is no slight to have saved a sheep by your uprightness and 'Have then opened eyes, said relieved from a load. 'You have, my son,' said the old man. 'You have taught her what truth and virtue For the shall heard yourself.' Berenger where he was, was opened, and he found himself The building was almost entirely dark; there were tall lights the altar in distance, and a little slender tapers burning before certain niches and but without power to conquer with the gloom more than enough to spread a pale yellow light beneath them, to show mysteriously bit vaulting A lamp hung an arch near the door, and beneath it, near a pillar, or rather crouched, on the floor, a female figure with peasant drawn over her 'The first token of is to the injured,' said Berenger at will leave he added. 'See, I pray for you yonder, by altar,' and he slowly cousin, I entreat you,' said Berenger, much embarrassed, he disappeared in the darkness. 'I must thus,' she answered, in a hoarse, exhausted voice. 'Ah! pardon, pardon!' she rising, however, as to raise clasped hands and an imploring 'Ah! can
 to the blot than would have beeN done by a yoUth leSs
cAreFuLly rEareD.

It was quite darK When A knock came to the door: the Cure's WhITe heAD
aPpearEd in the LAmPLIghT; hE nOddEd KInDly to All The guesTs, and
entreAteD tHat M. de RibaumONt Would do him A faVour to come anD spEak
witH hIm.

NO SooneR weRe theY outsiDE the hoUse, than thE cURe held OUt his haND,
SaYing 'sir, forgive me for a gRIeVOus injustice toWards yOu;' THeN
PResSinG his hand, he AdDed wiTH a voice TReMULOus WIth emotion,
'Sir, It is no slighT ThiNg to haVe SavED a wandEring ShEEp bY your
uprighTnesS and loyalTy.'

'Have YOu then oPEned her Eyes, faTheR?' saId BeREnGeR, reLiEVed FRoM a
hEAvy Load.

'You hAvE, mY son,' sAid tHE OLD man. 'you Have TaughT her what truth
And VirtUE arE. For tHe resT, you ShAll heArd for YoursElF.'

Before Berenger Knew Where he waS, a dOoR waS oPened, ANd he foUnd
HimSelf in tHe churcH. the BuILDInG was almost entirely DaRK; ThEre
were tWo tall LIgHtS At the altAr In dIstaNCE, and a Few lITtLe slendeR
taperS BuRnIng befoRe CertaiN nIchEs aNd shrINes, bUt withOut power
To conQUer with the glooM More than enougH To SPReAD a paLe cIrcle of
yellOw liGHt beNeatH ThEm, aND to shOw mysTeRIoUSly a bit of vaulting
abOvE. A singLe lamP hung from an arCh near the dOOR, And beneaTh it,
NEaR A pillar, knelt, or RatheR crouched, oN The floor, A femaLe figure
With a dark PEAsant cloAk dRawN ovEr hER HeAd.

'The first tokEN Of peNiTence is RepAration To tHe iNjuRed,' SaId the
prieSt.

BerengEr LoOkEd At hIm anxIOusly.

'I wiLl Not LeAve You,' he ADded. 'SeE, I shaLl prAy FoR You Yonder, bY
ThE ALtar,' AnD hE sloWly MoVed up The aISle.

'rise, couSin, I entreAt yOU,' saiD BErEnger, muCh embarrassed, As He
disappeaReD in The darKNEss.

'I must Speak thus,' she answered, in a HOarse, exHauSted vOice. 'ah!
pardon, pArdOn!' she aDdeD, Rising, HoweveR, so faR aS to RAIse clASPeD
haNdS and an implORIng Face. 'AH! cAn
 to the blot than would ha ve been do ne by  ayou th  les s
ca refully reared . 

It  was quite dark when a  knoc kc amet othe d oor: th e  c u r e's  w hi tehe a dappea red  in the  lamplight ; h enodded kindl y  t o all thegue sts, and
ent rea ted th at  M. de Ri bau montwouldd o hima favourto come a n d speak w it h hi m.

No sooner wer e  t h ey outside the  house ,t ha n the  cu re held ou this h a nd,
say i ng ' S ir, forgive me fo r a grievou s  in justic etow a rds yo u;' t he n 
pr essing hishand , he adde d with a voice tremulo us wit h e mot ion, 'S ir , i ti s n o  s lig h t t hing toha ve  save d aw a n d erin g s heep  by y our
uprightne ssandl oya lty.' 

'Ha ve y ou  then  opene d her  e yes, father?' s aidBerenger,  re li eve dfroma 
heavy  lo ad. 

'Youhave, m y  so n, ' s ai d the old man. 'Yo uh a ve  taughther wh a ttr u th
and v ir tue  are . For t he r e st , you sh all he a rd  f or your se lf.'
Be for e B ereng e r kn ew whe re he wa s, ad oor was opened ,  and he found hi m s el f  inthe  church. Th e bu i ldin g wa s  a lmo s t ent irely  d a rk ;  there
were two tal llights  at t he altar in d istance, a n d a few li ttle sl e nder
tapers bu rning  before ce r tain nic hes a nd shrin es, but w i t hout pow ertocon que r wi th the gloomm o re t ha n enoug h t o sprea d a  pa lecir cl e of
yell ow light  b en ea th  th em, a n d to sho wmys te rio uslya  bit o f vau ltin gab o ve.  A sing l el a mp h un gfrom  an  a rch n eart hedoor, a nd beneat h i t ,
ne ar  a  pillar , knelt, or r at her crouch ed , o n thef l oor, a f emale figure
with a dar k  peasan t c loakdraw n over he r h ead.
'Th e  first  token  of p en ite n c e isr e pa rat io n to the i n j ure d,' s ai d th e
pries t.

Berenger looke d  at  him anxiousl y.
'Iw i ll  no t  l e ave  y o u,' h e added. 'See,I shall pr ay fo r you yond e r,by 
the al tar,' a nd he slowlymoved upthe aisle .
'Ri s e , c ousin, I e ntreat y ou,' said Beren g er , muc h e mbarra ss ed,  as h e
disa p pea red i n theda rkness .

'I  m ust spea k thus,' she answered,in a h oarse , e xhaustedvoi c e.'Ah!
pard on,pardon!' s headd ed, r isi n g, ho weve r ,sof ar as  tor aise clas p ed 
ha n d sand an impl o r i ngface.  'A h ! can
 to_the blot_than would have been_done by_a_youth less
carefully_reared.

It_was quite dark_when a knock_came to the door:_the cure's white_head
appeared_in the lamplight; he nodded kindly to all the guests, and
entreated that M. de_Ribaumont_would do_him_a_favour to come and speak
with_him.

No sooner were they outside_the house,_than the cure held out his hand,
saying 'Sir,_forgive_me for a_grievous injustice towards you;' then
pressing his hand, he added_with a voice tremulous with emotion,
'Sir,_it is no_slight_thing_to have saved a_wandering sheep by your
uprightness and loyalty.'

'Have_you then opened her eyes, father?'_said Berenger, relieved from a
heavy load.

'You have,_my son,' said the old man._'You have taught her what_truth
and virtue_are. For the rest, you_shall heard for_yourself.'

Before Berenger_knew where he_was, a door was opened, and_he found
himself in_the church. The building was almost_entirely_dark; there
were two_tall_lights_at the_altar in distance,_and_a few_little_slender
tapers burning before certain niches and_shrines,_but without power
to conquer with the gloom_more than enough to_spread_a pale circle of
yellow_light beneath them, and to_show mysteriously a bit of vaulting
above._A single_lamp hung_from an arch near the door, and beneath it,
near a pillar,_knelt, or rather crouched, on the_floor, a female figure
with_a dark_peasant_cloak drawn over_her_head.

'The first_token of penitence is reparation to the_injured,' said_the
priest.

Berenger looked at him anxiously.

'I will_not leave you,' he_added._'See, I shall pray for you_yonder, by
the altar,' and he slowly_moved up the aisle.

'Rise, cousin,_I_entreat_you,' said Berenger, much embarrassed,_as he
disappeared in the darkness.

'I must_speak thus,' she_answered, in a hoarse, exhausted voice. 'Ah!
pardon,_pardon!'_she added, rising, however, so far_as_to raise clasped
hands and an imploring_face._'Ah!_can