Underneath the portrait a tiny holy-water basin of old Tyrolese pewter was fastened to the wall.

This Madame Bernard filled every year at Easter, when the parish priest came to bless the rooms, and every year she renewed the wreath on the anniversary of her husband's death; for she was a faithful soul and practised such little rites with a sort of cheerful satisfaction that was not exactly devout, but certainly had a religious source.
Captain Bernard had been a dashing fellow and there was no knowing what his soul might not need in the place his widow vaguely described as 'beyond' when she spoke of his presumable state, though in the case of Angela's father, for instance, it was always 'heaven' or 'paradise.' Apparently Madame Bernard had the impression that her husband's immortal part was undergoing some very necessary cure before partaking of unmixed bliss.
'Military men have so many temptations, my dear,' she said to Angela, thinking more of the deceased Captain than of being tactful,--'I mean,' she said, correcting herself, 'in France.' Angela was not afraid of temptation for Giovanni; rightly or wrongly, she trusted that her love would be his shield against the wicked world and her name his prayer in need, and she smiled at Madame Bernard's speech.

The big old parrot on his perch cocked his head.
'Especially the cavalry and artillery,' the good lady went on to explain.
'A drrroite--conversion!' roared the parrot in a terrific voice of command.
Angela jumped in her chair, for it was the first time she had heard the creature speak in that tone; but Madame Bernard laughed, as if it pleased her.
'It is absolutely my poor husband's tone,' she said calmly.

'Coco,' she said, turning to the bellicose bird, 'the Prussians are there!' 'Feu!' yelled the parrot suddenly, dancing with rage on his bar.

'Feu! 'cre nom d'un nom d'un p'tit bon Dieu!' 'Every intonation!' laughed the little Frenchwoman gaily.