Monsieur, Madame, and Bebe -- C

ir long flowing folds; feathers and ribbons flutter; the bell chimes solemnly, while carriages keep arriving at a trot, depositin

od place; the Abbe Gelon preaches to-day on abstinence, and

id fingers the holywater sprinkler which that pious old man holds out, and car

discreet and arist

rning, m

ys on abstinence that he preach

e. You have got on you

e showy, is it not? What a multitud

hurchwarden's pew; he left before me; he is becoming a

o be very con

e and Louise. Poor Louise's nose, always the same; who w

the chairs, some of which they u

t-eyed and full of feeling, cast a look of veiled adoration towa

se bows of their bonnet-strings, scan the assembly through a gold eyeglass, with the little finger turning up; finally, while smoothing down

comfortab

he two tapers, Louise and Madame de C----? Is it all

de C----. You know her history-the story of the scree

they settle down comfortably. The noise dies away, and all eyes are eagerly looking toward the face of the preacher. With his eyes turned to heaven, the latter stands upright and motionless; a light from above may be divined in his inspired look; his beautiful, white hands, encircled at the wrists by fine lace

ience a mellow glance, which penetrates and attracts; then, having uttered a few

n? How should we abstain? Those are the thre

l stirs every heart. How will he treat

sly stirred, and that at this moment you feel a

soft obscurity, similar to that o

bout it. Mysterious echoes repeat from the far end of the temple each of his words, and in the dim light of the sanctuary the golden candlesticks glitter like precious stones. The old stained-glass windows w

pes of the organ with its hundred voices. The beliefs of childhood piously inculcated in your heart suddenly reawaken; a vague perfume of incense again penetrates the air. The st

e of his words are lost; and, listening to the divine murmur of that saint-like voic

real light surrounds you, and your soul, delighting in the uncer

s and thrills the brain! Pity on these scoffers who do not comprehend the ineffable delight of being able to open at will the gates of Paradise to themselves, and to become, at odd moments, one with the angels! But

about it that adds tenfold to our strength and flatters our vanity. W

ign of peace. Then he wipes his humid forehead, his eyes sparkle with divine light, he descends the narrow stai

ot splend

That my eyes might close fo

s, you are coquettes.' He told us so

ly! He i

f the vehicles without hardly penetrates this dwelling of prayer, and the creak of one

kneeling, motionless and silent. In viewing the despair that their attitude appears to

silk and velvet, are crowded devoutly about the confessional. A sweet scent of violets and vervain permea

aist, has been able to get only half of her form into the narrow space. However, her head can be distinguished moving in the shadow,

agerness is quite explicable, for this chapel is the one in which the Abbe Gelon hears confessions, and I n

mains shut up for hours in this dark, narrow, suffocating box, through t

with subtle instinct and a sureness of vision that spares you a thousand embarrassments, the condition of a soul, so that, besides being a man of

nd skilful hand, disencumbers one of it rapidly, examines the contents, smiles or consoles, and the confession is made without one having uttered a single w

tones of his voice, the refinement of his look, reveal innate distinction and that spotless courtesy

s our language and understands our weaknesses? Nothing is more obvious, and I really do not comprehend some of these ladies who talk to me about the Abbe Brice. Not t

i's; he is dull in perceptio

probes, he weighs, and finishes his thousand questions by being indiscreet and almost improper. Is there not, even

must be prejudicial to him. He is slightly Republican, too, wears clumsy boots, has awful

a woman of fashion to confide her "little affairs" to a farmer's son, and address him as "Father." Matter

ree that it is not pleasant to have one's maid or

that in heaven you will only be too happy to call your coachman "Brother," and to say to Sarah Jane, "Sister," but these worthy folk shall have first passed through purga

owded. If a little whispering goes on, it is because they have been

, you may be s

spers a newcomer, edging her way throu

Madame de B. are there in the corner at the cann

all these people not had their turn yet? Ah! there is Ernestine." (She waves her hand to her quietly.) "That child is an angel. She acknowle

tell me, do you ki

my life; it is

to the omissi

lump. I say, 'Father, I have erred out of h

, and that dear Abbe Ge

e. But it seems to me that we are whispering a littl

nd with her thumb turns the ring of Ste-Genevieve that serves her as a rosary, moving her lips the while. Then, with downcast eyes a

I cast myself at thy feet'-tell me, dear, do you know if the chapel-keeper has a footwarmer? Nothing is worse than cold feet, and that Madame de P. sticks there for hours. I am sure she confesses her friends'

ished; she is as red as t

ward with pious ardo

o not push so,

ere before y

ousand pard

ge idea of the respect which

and take the vacant place. (Whispering.) Do not forget the