—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?