'How can one love a man who is dead?
It is impossible; consequently it is not wrong!' Angela looked at her quickly and then walked on.
'There is no such thing as death,' she said.
It was Filmore Durand's odd speech that had come back to her often during two years; when she repeated it to herself she saw his portrait of Giovanni, which still hung in Madame Bernard's sitting-room, and presently it was not a picture seen in memory, but Giovanni himself.
Madame Bernard shrugged her shoulders and smiled vaguely.
'Death is a fact,' she said prosaically.

'It is the reason why we cannot live for ever!' The reason was not convincing to Angela, but as she saw no chance of being understood, she went back to the starting-point.
'Then you do not think it can possibly be wrong for a nun to love some one who is dead ?' she asked, her tone turning the statement into a question.
'Of course not!' cried the governess almost impatiently.

'You might as well think yourself in love with his tombstone and then fancy it a sin!' So one of Angela's three friends had answered her question very definitely.

The answer was not worthless, because Madame Bernard was a very honest, matter-of-fact woman; on the contrary, it represented a practical opinion, and that is always worth having, though the view it defines may be limited.

Angela did not try to explain further what she had meant, and Madame Bernard always avoided subjects she could not understand.