“Ah! you mean Loppen, Miss Falbe—a handsome—hem, hem!”
It did no good to cough; the ironing-board sent him a look and Mrs. Garman laughed openly behind her large fan. But Miss Falbe continued her recommendation, describing all the temptations of life at the Ark.
“That Miss Falbe can bear to live at such a house,” said the ironing-board aside.
Miss Falbe forced herself to be silent. But when no one seemed disposed to make any response, the little wife of the chief of police said:
“Pardon, I am yet so strange here; but does the young girl you speak of, live within the bounds of St. Peter’s parish?”
That keen-witted question made so good an impression on the chaplain, that he decided she should have the secretaryship. But it was soon brought to light that the Ark really was inside the limits of St. Peter’s parish; and then again ensued a short, painful pause. For every one was anxious to oppose Miss Falbe, but no one saw what excuse they were to give.
Then the chaplain said: “Pardon, Miss Falbe; but as you know the object of this institution, you also understand what class of people in society we are starting out to rescue. Allow me, therefore, one question: Is the girl proposed by you, a fallen woman?”
“That I do not know,” answered Miss Falbe hurriedly, and colored; but just after, she continued composedly: “She is no more than seventeen years old and just on that account I hoped she could be saved. For, from the surroundings in which she has grown up, it seems to me almost a necessity that she must fall and go down, as we so often see girls in her position do.”
“Yes, Miss, to that I must answer, that in the first place I do not share these modern views about necessity. I, for my part, believe—and I am—even if the new wisdom of our times will laugh at me—I am happy to believe that right there, where human eyes see the certain, the necessary way to destruction, that right there is the place for God’s loving providence. And as to the matter itself,” added the chaplain, and looked about among the company, “I must now repeat what I have already had the honor to point out in this connection—that, just as have we found it our duty to confine our labors to a certain parish, so we must also maintain that our work of rescue comprehend a distinct class of our fellow men. That, too, we have intended to indicate in the name we have chosen: The Institution for Fallen Women—so only for the unfortunates whom we designate fallen women—of St. Peter’s Parish.”
This address was received with subdued, but warm approval, by all the ladies around the table; and several might be heard—“certainly,” “that is clear,” “it must be that way of course.”