—Well, I forbid you for the future to put your foot inside the church.
—In truth, father, would not one say that you were talking of some ill-reputed place?
—Worse than that. Those who enter a place of ill-repute, know beforehand where they go and to what they expose themselves, which the little fools who frequent churches never know.
Suzanne made no reply and went down into the garden.
The old governess who bad brought her up and who loved her tenderly, came to meet her.
—Your father is after the Curés again. What can these poor people of God have done to the man?
They walked a long time round the kitchen-garden, then they sat down under an arbour of honeysuckle.
—What time is it, Marianne? the young girl said all at once, fixing her eyes on the window of her father's room.
—It is late, my child, it is ten o'clock at least; everybody in the village has gone to bed. Come, your father has finished his newspaper, there is no longer any light in his room; he has just blown out his lamp. Let us go in.
They were near the little back-gate which led out to the meadows. Suzanne opened it cautiously: "No, let us go out," she said.