“Quite certain.”
“Look at me, Pierrette.”
Pierrette looked at Sylvie.
“A man called to you this morning in the square.”
Pierrette lowered her eyes.
“You went to your window, you opened it, and you spoke to him.”
“No cousin, I went to look out and I saw a peasant.”
“Pierrette, you have much improved since you made your first communion; you have become pious and obedient, you love God and your relations; I am satisfied with you. I don’t say this to puff you up with pride.”
The horrible creature had mistaken despondency, submission, the silence of wretchedness, for virtues!
The sweetest of all consolations to suffering souls, to martyrs, to artists, in the worst of that divine agony which hatred and envy force upon them, is to meet with praise where they have hitherto found censure and injustice. Pierrette raised her grateful eyes to her cousin, feeling that she could almost forgive her for the sufferings she had caused.