It is not only the friend to whom I address myself, it is the confessor, the director of consciences, the man of the whole universe in whose discretion I place most reliance." "I am all ears," responded the abbe, crossing the shapely legs in which he took no little pride.
M.Moriaz entered at once into the subject that troubled him.

It was some moments before Abbe Miollens divined whither he was tending.
As soon as he had grasped a ray of light, his face contracted, and uncrossing his limbs, he cried: "Ah, what a misfortune! You will have to renounce your delightful dream, my dear Monsieur, and, believe me, no one can be more grieved than I.I fully comprehend with what joy you would have seen your charming daughter consecrate, I will not say her fortune, for you know as well as I how little Count Larinski would care for that, but consecrate, I say, her graces, her beauty, and all the qualities of her angelic character to the happiness of a man of rare merit who has been cruelly scourged by Providence.

She loves him, she is loved by him; Heaven would have blest their union.

Ah, what a misfortune! I must repeat it, this marriage is impossible; our friend is already married." "You are sure of it ?" cried M.Moriaz, in a burst of enthusiasm that the good abbe mistook for an access of despair.
"I scarcely can pardon myself for causing you this pain.

You ask if I am sure of it! I have it from our friend himself.