Abbe Mouret's Transgression

e arms of giants hidden there. All sorts of sounds came from the park: rustling of wings, quivering of leaves, furtive bounds at which branches snapped, mighty sighs that bowed the young shoo

ough in what I can't remember. The little one was at school somewhere when her father killed himself. She was even quite a little lady, up to reading, embroidery, chattering, and str

ig stone nearly

ve a wheel in this cursed road!'

hed beside them: the

to come back naked. Now she dresses like a savage. To-day she was rather presentable; but sometimes she has scarcely anything on beyond her shoes and chemise. Did you hear her? The Paradou is hers. The very day after she came she took possessio

be Mouret. 'Isn't that some a

ascal l

turned out to play on a desert island. My word, if ever you get to know of a girl who needs proper bringing up, I advise you not to entrust her to Jeanbernat. He has a most primitive way of letting nature alone. When I ventured to speak to him about

far as one could see. As Abbe Mouret turned to take a last look at that grey-hued barrier, whose impenetrable austerity had at last be

was running behind

es rocking more and more violently, they heard a clear, laughing voice call out: 'Good-bye, do

he must have followed the trap at a run. Jumping

his turn s

How tall you must b

bowed still lower, scattering their le

lied the voice now mellowed by distance, so musical, so merged into t

of the scorched plain. When the gig reached the turning to the village, Abbe Mou

efer to walk: it

ishioners as that old brute Jeanbernat, you wouldn't often be disturbed. However, you yourself wanted to come. And mind you ke