by this revelation. “Ursule, my child,” he said as he came into the parlor, “the author of all your injury is horrified at his work, is repentant and wants to ask your pardon in the presence of these gentlemen, on the condition that all shall be forgotten.”
“What! Goupil?” at once said the curé, the justice of the peace, and the doctor.
“Keep the secret,” said Ursule laying her finger on her lips.
Goupil heard these words, saw Ursule’s movement, and was touched.
“Mademoiselle,” he said in moving tones, “I wish that all Nemours could now hear me confessing to you that an unfortunate passion turned my head, and suggested crimes to me that deserve the blame of honest folk. What I here say, I shall everywhere repeat while deploring the harm caused by wicked jokes, though they may perhaps have helped to hasten your happiness,” he said, somewhat maliciously, as he rose, “as I see Madame de Portenduère is here.”
“That is right, Goupil,” said the curé, “mademoiselle has forgiven you; but you must never forget that you nearly became a murderer.”
“Monsieur Bongrand,” resumed Goupil, addressing the justice of the peace, “to-night I am going to negotiate with Lecœur for his practice; I hope that this reparation will not injure me in your esteem, and that you will second my application to the crown office and the minister.”
