The paganism of Dame Sabine is as good in the sight of le bon Dieu as the belief of Jean Rivee, who knows that his boat was guided into the harbor on the night of the great storm by the Holy Virgin, who posed Herself by the helm.

Heavens! yes--it is God who judges--not priests." It can be easily understood that with two minds of this breadth, Pere Anselme and Sabine Howard became real friends.
The Cure, when he read with her the masters of the _dix-septieme_ and the _dix-huitieme_ had a quaintly humorous expression in his old black eye.
"Not for girls or for priests--but for _des gens du monde_," he said to her one day, on putting down a volume of Voltaire.
"Of what matter," Sabine had answered.

"Since I am not a girl, _cher maitre_, and you were once not a priest, and we are both _gens du monde--hein_ ?" His breeding had been of enormous advantage to him, enabling him to refrain from asking Sabine a single question; but he knew from her ejaculations as time went on that she had passed through some furnace during her eighteenth year, and it had seared her deeply.

He even knew more than this; he knew almost as much as Simone, eventually, but it was all locked in his breast and never even alluded to between them.
Sabine was waiting for him at this moment upon this glorious day in August.

Pere Anselme was going to breakfast with her.
He was announced presently, courtly and spare and distinguished in his thread-bare soutane, and they went in to the breakfast-room, a round chamber in the adjoining tower which had kitchens beneath.