Her sitting-room at Heronac was, of course, not perfect; and to the trained eye of Henry Fordyce would present many anomalies; but no one could deny that it was a charming apartment, or that it was a glowing frame of rich tints for her youthful freshness.
She had really studied in these years of her residence there, and each month put something worth having into the storehouse of her intelligent mind.

She was as immeasurably removed from the Sabine Delburg of convent days as light from darkness, and her companion had often been Monsieur le Cure, an enchanting Jesuit priest, who had the care of the souls of Heronac village.

A great cynic, a pure Christian and a man of parts--a distant connection of the original family--Gaston d'Heronac had known the world in his day; and after much sorrow had found a hermitage in his own village--a consolation in the company of this half-French, half-American heiress, who had incorporated herself with the soil.

He was now seventy years of age and always a gentleman, with few of the tiresome habits of the old.
What joy he had found in opening the mind of his young Dame d'Heronac! It was frankly admitted that there were to be no discussions upon religion.
"I am a pagan, _cher pere_," Sabine had said, almost immediately, "leave me!--and let me enjoy your sweet church and your fisherfolks' faith.

I will come there every Sunday and say my prayers--_mes prieres a moi_--and then we can discuss philosophy afterwards or--what you will." And the priest had replied: "Religion is not of dogma.