"The gown is ravishing, as you should have seen before this. It is you, my friend, who are angry. To what end? Angry at nothing? That is foolish. Angry at something? Considering that that Something is God——"
"There you have it,—fear. Women rule men through their passions; and priests rule women through their fears."
"Eh bien! Have it so. You deny God. It is daring—splendid—but what do you gain, what do you gain, mon ami?"
"I deny your impossible God, and in so doing, I retain my self-respect."
"A valuable possession, doubtless. Yet the fact remains that you fight windmills, or you fight the power that loosens the hurricane. Futile warfare!"
Monsieur shrugged his shoulders. A woman's argument is rarely worthy the attention of a philosopher.
"Behold," continued the little Marquise, "behold Père Martin. He is good; he is wise. What has he to gain? Only heaven. He sacrifices much on earth—pleasure, dignity, power——"
"He has more power than a king——"
"Listen, my friend, and do not interrupt. If he has power over me and such as I—which is what you mean—he uses it discreetly, kindly. I enjoy life, I hope for heaven. You enjoy life, of heaven you have no hope. Which of us is wise?"
"You believe because you think it safer."