—What, Veronica?
—But what matters our condition on earth? We are in a state of transition.
Holy Mary, she too, was a poor servant and now she is far above a queen.
—Without doubt, said the Curé.
—We must then despise nobody. Under the most humble appearance, God often conceals his most faithful servants.
—Most certainly. But what are you driving at?
—At this, Monsieur le Curé; that we must be good and indulgent to everybody: that the great sometimes have need of the little, and that when we are able to render a service to our neighbour we must do it without hesitation.
—It is Jesus who commands it, Veronica. But explain yourself, I pray.
—Well! yes, I will speak, she replied, for I am pained to see you thus, and the more so as it is certainly allowed me to tell you so, me who am destined, please God, to live with you. I have only known you since you were our Curé, but you have been so good to me that I love you like … a sister. I was all alone here, like a poor forsaken creature, after the death of my old master, the Abbé Fortin—may God keep his soul,—and you consented to keep me when taking the parsonage. It is good of you, for you might have brought with you your former servant, or again some niece, as many do.
—I have no niece, Veronica.
—A niece, or a sister, or a relation. After all you have kept me, although you could have found a better than myself. Oh, very easily, I know … and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, yes, from the bottom of my heart. But could you have found one more devoted, more discreet? I believe not; as much, perhaps; but more, I believe not. Ah! I tell you here, Monsieur le Curé, you can do everything you want, nobody shall ever know anything of it.