Oh! do not say you have no hope." "None in this world, Victorine.

The Indian widow, when she throws herself on the burning pile, with a noble courage does what she has been taught to look upon as a sacred duty, but she cannot but dread the fire which is to consume her." "You would not liken yourself to her ?" "Through the mercy of our blessed Saviour I am not so mistaken in my creed; but I am hardly less calamitous in my fate: but it is not the prospect of my own sufferings which disturb me; I at any rate may be assured of an honourable, even an enviable death.

It is my anxiety for you--for our little one--and for dear Marie, which makes my spirit sad." "God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb," said Madame de Lescure.
"Our trials will not be harder than we can bear." "God bless you for those words, dearest: there is comfort in them--real, true comfort.

But remember them yourself Victorine; remember them when you will most want them.

When great sorrow comes home to your bosom, as it will do; when affliction is heavy on you, when worldly comforts are leaving you, when enemies are around you, when the voices of cruel men are in your ears, and their cruel deeds before your eyes, then remember, my love, that God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb." "I will, my own Charles, I will," said she, now kneeling at his feet, and burying her face in her hands upon his knees; "if I am called upon to bear these miseries, I will remember it." "And look up, Victorine; look up, dearest.