“He told me that a handsome face is the index of a handsome soul, and is a gift of God, for which a woman should render thanks continually; that in attempting to destroy this beauty I had sinned, for I had endeavoured to destroy God’s handiwork. After a good deal of rebuke in this style, he ordered me to put a little rouge on my cheeks whenever I felt myself looking pale. I had to submit, and I have bought a pot of rouge, but hitherto I have not felt obliged to use it. Indeed, my father might notice it, and I should not like to tell him that it is done by way of penance.”
“Is your confessor a young man?”
“He is an old man of seventy.”
“Do you tell him all your sins without reserve?”
“Certainly, for the smallest circumstance may be really a great sin.”
“Does he ask you questions?”
“No, for he sees that I am telling him the whole truth. It is a great trial, but I have to submit to it.”
“Have you had this confessor for long?”
“For two years. Before him I had a confessor who was quite unbearable. He asked me questions which made me quite indignant.”
“What questions were these?”