"What did the old thing do to move you to compassion? Did she show you —what?—her—her religion?"
"Do not make game of her, sweetheart; she is a very saintly, a very noble and pious woman, worthy of all respect."
"Am I not worthy of respect then, heh?" answered Valerie, with a threatening gaze at Crevel.
"I never said so," replied he, understanding that the praise of virtue might not be gratifying to Madame Marneffe.
"I am pious too," Valerie went on, taking her seat in an armchair; "but I do not make a trade of my religion. I go to church in secret."
She sat in silence, and paid no further heed to Crevel. He, extremely ill at ease, came to stand in front of the chair into which Valerie had thrown herself, and saw her lost in the reflections he had been so foolish as to suggest.
"Valerie, my little Angel!"
Utter silence. A highly problematical tear was furtively dashed away.
"One word, my little duck?"
"Monsieur!"