'Oh，girl！'cried the priest，'have pity on me！Thou deemest thyself miserable—alas！alas！thou knowest not what misery is.Oh，to love a woman—to be a priest—to be hated—to love her with all the fury of one's soul，to feel that for the least of her smiles one would give one's blood，one's vitals，fame，salvation，immortality，and eternity—this life and the life to come；to regret not being a king，a genius，an emperor，an archangel—God—that one might place a greater slave beneath her feet；to clasp her day and night in one's dreams，one's thoughts—and then to see her in love with the trappings of a soldier，and have naught to offer her but the unsightly cassock of a priest，which she will only regard with fear and disgust！To be present with one's jealousy and rage while she lavishes on a miserable，brainless swashbuckler her whole treasure of love and beauty！To see the form that enflames you，that soft bosom，that flesh panting and glowing under the kisses of another！Dear heaven—to adore her foot，her arm，her shoulder，to dream of her blue veins，her sun-browned skin till one writhes whole nights upon the stones of one's cell，and to see all those caresses，which one has dreamed of lavishing on her，end in her torture！To have succeeded only in laying her on the bed of leather！Oh，these are the irons heated in the fires of hell！Oh，blest is he who is sawn asunder，torn by four horses！Knowest thou what that torture，is，endured through long nights from seething arteries，a breaking heart，a bursting head—burying your teeth in your own hands—fell tormentors that unceasingly turn you as on a burning gridiron over a thought of love，of jealousy，and of despair！Have mercy，girl！One moment's respite from my torment—a handful of ashes on this white heat！Wipe away，I conjure thee，the drops of agony that trickle from my brow！Child，torture me with one hand，but caress me with the other！Have pity，girl—have pity on me！'
The priest writhed on the wet floor and beat his head against the corner of the stone steps.The girl listened to him—gazed at him.
When he ceased，exhausted and panting，she repeated under her breath：'Oh，my P us！'
The priest dragged himself to her on his knees.
'I beseech thee，'he cried，'if thou hast any bowels of compassion，repulse me not！Oh，I love thee！I am a wretch！When thou utterest that name，unhappy girl，'tis as if thou wert grinding every fibre of my heart between thy teeth！Have pity！if thou comest from hell，I go thither with thee.I have done amply to deserve that.The hell where thou art shall be my paradise—the sight of thee is more to be desired than that of God！Oh，tell me，wilt thou have none of me？I would have thought the very mountains had moved ere a woman would have rejected such a love！Oh，if thou wouldst—how happy we could be！We would flee—I could contrive thy escape—we would go somewhere—we would seek that spot on earth where the sun shines brightest，the trees are most luxuriant，the sky the bluest.We would love—would mingle our two souls together—would each have an inextinguishable thirst for the other，which we would quench at the inexhaustible fountain of our love！'
She interrupted him with a horrible and strident laugh：
'Look，holy father，there is blood upon your nails！'
The priest remained for some moments as if petrified，his eyes fixed on his hand.
'Well，be it so，'he continued at last，with strange claim；'insult me，taunt me，overwhelm me with scorn，but come—come away.Let us hasten.'Tis for to-morrow I tell thee.The gibbet of La Grève—thou knowest—it is always in readiness.'Tis horrible！—to see thee carried in that tumbrel！Oh，have pity！I never felt till now how much I loved thee.Oh，follow me！Thou shalt take time to love me after I have saved thee.Thou shalt hate me as long as thou wilt—but come To-morrow—to-morrow—the gibbet！—thy execution！Oh，save thyself！spare me！'
He seized her by the arm distractedly and sought to drag her away.
She turned her fixed gaze upon him.'What has become of P us？'
'Ah，'said the priest，letting go her arm，'you have no mercy！'
'What has become of P us？'she repeated stonily.
'Dead！'cried the priest.
'Dead？'said she，still icy and motionless；'then why talk to me of living？'
He was not listening to her.
'Ah，yes，'he said，as if speaking to himself，'he must be dead.The knife went deep.I think I reached his heart with the point.Oh，my soul was in that dagger to the very point！'
The girl threw herself upon him with the fury of a tigress，and thrust him towards the steps with supernatural strength.
'Begone，monster！Begone，assassin！Leave me to die！May the blood of both of us be an everlasting stain upon thy brow！Be thine，priest？Never！never！no power shall unite us—not hell itself！Begone，accursed—never！'
The priest stumbled against the steps.He silently disengaged his feet from the folds of his robe，took up his lantern，and began slowly to ascend the steps leading to the door.He opened the door and went out.
Suddenly she saw his head reappear.His face wore a frightful expression，and he cried with a voice hoarse with rage and despair：
'I tell thee he is dead！'
She fell on her face to the floor.No sound was now audible in the dungeon but the tinkle of the drop of water which ruffled the surface of the pool in the darkness.
Chapter 5-The Mother
