But his lady was too restless to begin their reading, and stole from window to window looking out on the gray sea.
"I shall come here for six months in the year just as always, Father," she said at last. "I can never sever myself from Héronac."
"God forbid," exclaimed the priest, aghast. "If you left us, the sun no more would seem to shine."
"And sometimes I will come—alone—because there will be times, my Father, when I shall want to fight things out—alone."
The Père Anselme took some steps nearer her, and after a moment said, in a grave voice:
"Remember always, my daughter, that le bon Dieu settles things for us mortals if we leave it all to Him—but if we take the helm in the direction of our own affairs, it may be He will let circumstance draw us into rough waters. In that case, the only thing for us is to be true to our word and to our own souls—and to use common sense."
Sabine looked at him with somber, startled eyes.
"You mean, that I decided to help myself, Father—about the divorce—and that now I must look only to myself—It is a terrible thought."
"You are strong, my child; it may be that you were directed from above, I cannot say," and he shrugged his shoulders gently. "Only that the good God is always merciful. What you must be is true to yourself. Pax vobiscum," and he placed his hand upon her head.
But, for once, Sabine lost control of her emotions and, bursting into a passion of tears, she rushed from the room.