“No; we are not happy in purgatory; and according to the church we must all go to purgatory, unless we have been great saints. She asked me about my religion. And we have purgatory, you see.”
“I hope you didn’t say anything about it that may have troubled her.”
“Oh, I said nothing at all that troubled her,” Alix assured him. “She did not take purgatory at all seriously.”
“Do you?” Giles was smiling a little. How much relief she had given him!
“I am afraid not,” Alix owned. “I am afraid I do not take heaven seriously either. But I did not tell her that. It might have grieved her. It always seems to me that we must go out like blown candles, when we are dead. I do not like to think it; but it seems so to me. Does it not to you?”
“No; it doesn’t. You are a little pagan, Alix.”
“A pagan! Not at all! I am a Catholic. I go to confession once a year.”
Giles now laughed out. So much had she relieved him that her unspiritual state roused only mirth in him. “Doesn’t your confessor give you any penances?”
“Yes. I have penances. I do them as I am told. The Chemin de la Croix—all round the church.—It is very tiring—dragging my prie dieu.”
Giles went on laughing;—“Is it? By Jove! And your first communion? Weren’t you prepared for that?”