—Oh! God does not ask for impossibilities, as my old master, Monsieur le Curé Fortin, used to say: he was a good-natured man. He often repeated to me: "You see, Veronica, provided appearances are saved, everything is saved. God is content, he asks for no more."
—What, the Abbé Fortin said that?
—Yes, and many other things too. He was so honest, so delicate a man—not more than you, however, Monsieur le Curé—but he understood his case better than any other. He said again: "Beware of bad example, keep yourself from scandal. Dirty linen should be washed at home." Good rules, are they not, Monsieur Marcel?
—Certainly.
—He knew so well how to compassionate human infirmities. Ah! when nature speaks, she speaks very loudly.
—Do you know anything about it, Veronica?
—Who does not know it? I can certainly acknowledge that to you, since you are my Curé and my confessor.
—That is true, Veronica.
—And to whom should a poor servant acknowledge her secret thoughts, if not to her Curé and her confessor? He is her only friend in this world, is he not?
The Curé did not reply. He considered the strange shape the conversation was taking, and cast a look of defiance at the woman.