Alone, he might weep. And then, under the
kiosk, he saw a white figure, which reminded him of Francesca.
"And for three months I have had no letter from her! What has become
of her? I have not written for two months, but I warned her. Is she
ill? Oh, my love! My life! Will you ever know what I have gone
through? What a wretched constitution is mine! Have I an aneurism?" he
asked himself, feeling his heart beat so violently that its pulses
seemed audible in the silence like little grains of sand dropping on a
big drum.
At this moment three distinct taps sounded on his door; Albert
hastened to open it, and almost fainted with joy at seeing the
Vicar-General's cheerful and triumphant mien. Without a word, he threw
his arms round the Abbe de Grancey, held him fast, and clasped him
closely, letting his head fall on the old man's shoulder. He was a
child again; he cried as he had cried on hearing that Francesca
Soderini was a married woman. He betrayed his weakness to no one but
to this priest, on whose face shone the light of hope. The priest had
been sublime, and as shrewd as he was sublime.
"Forgive me, dear Abbe, but you come at one of those moments when the
man vanishes, for you are not to think me vulgarly ambitious."
"Oh! I know," replied the Abbe. "You wrote '_Ambition for love's
sake_!'--Ah! my son, it was love in despair that made me a priest in
1786, at the age of two-and-twenty.
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