"We have all been through an awful time, _mon Pere_." "So it would seem.

It is not the moment for me to tell you that you drew it all upon yourselves--since the good God has seen fit to restore you to happiness." "I drew it upon us," protested Michael.

"You know the whole story, Father ?" The old priest coughed slightly.
"I know most of it, my son.

In it, you do not altogether shine----" Michael got up from his chair, while he clasped his hands forcibly.
"No, indeed, I do not--I know I have been an unspeakable brute--I have not the grain of an excuse to offer--and yet she has forgiven me.

Women are certainly angels, are they not, _mon Pere_ ?" The Cure of Heronac sighed gently.
"Angels when they love, and demons when they hate--of an unbalance--but a great charm.