Waterbury Democrat., 1902-04-04
At the Confes siona1
By w. F. C. TEACHER.

THICK wet mist had crept up 1 "A from the channel and wrapt l Paris in dripping shadow. It muf17ed 1 the noises of the streets and trans 1 formed the street lamps into ghastly Llurs of yellow light, reflected dimly in l the wet pavement. With the fog came chill wind which nipped the bare toes of the newsboys, quickened the meas ured tread of the gendarmes and caused the few belated pedestrians to 1 hasten homewards.
 Within the great cathedral all was l gloom and silence. It was deserted, 1 save for a few miserables, who lin gered more for the warmth and protec- ton than from any motives of piety. i The sacrifcial candles twinlkled with a lambent radiance which lent an un- canny aspect to the barbaric splendor l of the altar, and served to exaggerate the impressive distances of the inte- l rior.
 Before one of the confessionals a priest was standing, alone. His arms were folded on his breast and his head lowered in an attitude of meditation. He was man of 30 or whereabouts, tall and massive, with fine patrician fea- lures, from which his ascetic life had not entirely erased the lines of youth and enthusiasm. As he stood there, enwrapt in reverie, his face bore an incongruous expression of breeding pain. It was as if dead past had come to life and was clutching at his heart with cruel fingers-the past which had drawn him to the priest hood for refuge, and which even it's stern consolation could not banish.
 In a distant loft an organ sounded, dissipating the images of his reveries. His fingers touched his beads and he prayed swiftly.
 Outside, the mist had settled into chill drizzle, and the streets were rap idly being deserted. A brougham, con- spicuous for it's rich appointments, swept out of the current of vehicles and drew up in front of the cathedral. A liyeried footman opened the door, and a woman yelled and garbed in a long coat stepped out and ascended the
 marble steps. Inside she noticed with satisfaction the almost deserted con dition of the interior. Then she ap- preached the solitary figure of the priest.
 Father" she said, in a low voice, but without hesitation, T wish to confess to you. Will you hear me?"
 The priest had involuntarily drawn the cowl over his face so as to conceal his features. ,f
 Surely, madame" he replied. ssWe will enter the confessional, if you please"
 Inside the little chapel they took their places, he sitting behind the low rail, on which the woman rested her arms as she knelt before him.
 Begin, my child, and may God for ] give you for your transgressions."
 q have no petty list of wrongdoings to confess to you, father" she began, "though there are enough of them, Heaven knows, but I wish to tell you the story of my life. I have never told it before, but I can no longer keep
 silence"
 "You do we'll to come to me-" the priest answered, mechanically. "May X the Holy Virgin intercede for you.' .Years ago. she continued, "no mat ter how many, I was betrothed to a
 young man. We were very much in love with each other, and life seemed
 full of bliss for us. We were not to be married until my lover's fortune
 was assured, for although he was a
 scion of a noble house, his father had died and left his affairs in an embar-
 rassed condition, and feeble mother
 was dependent upon him for support.
 He was capable and willing to work,
 and his prospects were bright for an honorable career: but--ah, well, it is , che old story. I was young and ann bilious and impatient at the long wait ing, and longed for luxury and social
 distinction, so when Baron de''-she } checked herself suddenly-''when the ; man I afterwards married offered all these things-I was weak and foolish, ? and my father urged me-and so ac-
 cepted him-God forgive me!-and ? broke faith with my lover." Her voice broke, and she paused a [ moment to gain her elf-control. , Ut is not so awful thus far, is it father? But the terrible part is to
 come. Fabrice, my lo-what is it, ia.
 ther?"
 !; The priest had uttered half-sup. !. pressed cry.
 Nothing" he replied, hastily-'a i slight cough. Proceed"
 !. My lover.' she continued, Suddenly disappeared. It was thought that he 5 had committed slacide, but his body
 was never found. Then his poor moth t er-he was her idol--died of grief. See :. what sorrow and suffering my folly : has brought about.
 : Tt did not take long for me to dis !. cover my mistake-but it was too late 1 had bound myself to man I could 3 never love; my chance for happiness was lost forever. And have suffered
 God knows how much. Not a minute since I first realized the awfulness o1
 my sin but have endured every agony
 Even in my dreams my lost Fabrice
 comes to me and reproaches me for my f faithlessness.
 s'Ah! I have done penance, father. f would a thousand times rather be dead f -@---------- -----z---------------