LXXXI.
A LITTLE CONFESSION
"Let us not ask of the tree what fruit it bears."
CAMILLE LEMONNIER (Mes Medailles).
—Monsieur le Curé is a trifle abrupt, said Marcel, bat he has an excellent heart.
—Yes, he seems to be quickly offended. It is quite different with the old gentleman who came to see me at the Hospital. There is a good sort of a man!
—The Chaplain, no doubt.
—No, he is a judge. When I knew it, I was quite alarmed at it. A judge, that makes one think of the gendarmes. I was quite in order, fortunately. Besides, he is the president of a great Society, which enters everywhere, and knows what is going on everywhere. Ah, he is a man who frightened me very much the first time I saw him. But he is as kind as can be.
—You are talking, no doubt, of Monsieur Tibulle, President of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, and Judge of the Court at Vic.
—Monsieur Tibulle, that is he. A benevolent man, but who does good only to people who are religious and honest and right-minded—as he says. As I am an artiste, the Sister was afraid that he would not trouble himself about me, but he saw plainly that I was an honest girl.
—What do you mean by honest girl?
She looked at him attentively:
—You know very well, she said.
—But it is not enough to receive the Communion once, by chance, to be honest.
—Was I not obliged to go to confession before?
—Ah, I can explain it all now. You have been washed from your sins. That is well, my daughter, but you must not fall into them again.
—Fall where?
—Into your sins.
—That will be very hard, said Zulma with a sigh, for I commit so many of them.
—Many! so young! How old are you?
—Sixteen.
—Sixteen; and so grown-up already. But what are the sins that you can commit at sixteen?
—Many. The Curé of the Hospital has assured me so. He said to me that I was a cup of iniquity.
—Oh, he has exaggerated; I feel sure that he has exaggerated. What sins do you commit then?
—I do not say my prayers, I do not fast on Friday, I do not go to Mass.
—What then?
—Others besides.
—What are they?
—I do not know; there are so many.
—Which are those that you commit by preference? The sins which you have just related to me are infractions of the Church's laws. But the others … you do not know what are the sins which you take pleasure in committing?
—They all give me pleasure. If I sin, it is because it gives me pleasure, is it not? If it did not give me pleasure, I should not sin.
—But, after all, there are pleasures which you love more than others.
—Assuredly. Are not all pleasures sins?
—All those which are not innocent, yes.
—How can I distinguish innocent pleasures from those which are not so?
—Your conscience is the best judge.
—And when my conscience says nothing?
—That is not a sin.
—Well, Monsieur le Curé of the Hospital has accused me of a heap of sins for which my conscience does not reproach me at all.
—My child, habit sometimes hardens the heart, but you are not of an age to have a hardened heart. I feel certain that your heart, on the contrary, is kind and tender, and that if you commit faults, it is through ignorance. What are then those great faults?
—Must I tell you them in order to be an honest girl?
—Yes, I should like to hear them; I might be able to give you some good advice. Advice is not to be despised, particularly in your condition, exposed as you are, young and pretty as you are.
—Pretty! you think me pretty?
—Yes, said Marcel smiling; am I the first to tell you so, and don't you know it?
—Oh, no, you are not the first. When I am passing by somewhere, or when I am taking part in the outside show, I often hear them say: Eh, the pretty girl! But you are the first from whom it has given me so much pleasure to hear it. Is that a sin too?
—A little sin of vanity, but extremely pardonable. If you have no greater ones than that, you are really an honest girl.
He looked at her and smiled. Zulma caught his look, and blushed.
—Where are you going to stay at Nancy?
—The gentleman who paid my fare, gave me also the address of a house where I can rest for a day or two while I am waiting for news from my company: the Hôtel du Cygne de la Croix.
—I know it, said Ridoux who had just woke up, it is a respectable house, the best which a young person like you could meet with. I have no doubt but that you will be welcomed there and at a moderate price, being recommended by the worthy Monsieur Tibulle. The mistress of the establishment is a conscientious lady, well-disposed and observing her religious duties. She is not one who will give you meat on a Friday. Monsieur Tibulle takes a great interest in you then?
—Yes, sir. He has even said that if I wished, he would find a more suitable position for me; but what position could he give me?
—He might find you some … he is an influential man. I invite you to follow his advice. He is a member of the Society for the protection of poor young girls.
—But, no doubt, I shall not see him again.
—Then, said Marcel, I, for my part, would wish to be useful to you; but unfortunately, you are only passing through, and I also am not here for long. Nevertheless, if for one cause or another you should have need of anyone … you understand … a young girl might find herself at a loss in a huge town … you will enquire for the Abbé Marcel at this address.
-Many thanks, sir.
They had arrived. The travellers separated. The young girl with her small amount of luggage directed her steps in all confidence towards the inn which the old member of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul had acquainted her with, while Ridoux and Marcel took their way to the Place d'Alliance, where resided the Comtesse de Montluisant.