“Why insult my happiness? Can I not love Lucien and be virtuous? Am I not ready to die here for virtue, as I should be ready to die for him? Am I not dying for these two fanaticisms—for virtue, which was to make me worthy of him, and for him who flung me into the embrace of virtue? Yes, and ready to die without seeing him or to live by seeing him. God is my Judge.”
The color had mounted to her face, her whiteness had recovered its amber warmth. Esther looked beautiful again.
“The day after that on which you are washed in the waters of baptism you shall see Lucien once more; and if you think you can live in virtue by living for him, you shall part no more.”
The priest was obliged to lift up Esther, whose knees failed her; the poor child dropped as if the ground had slipped from under her feet. The Abbe seated her on a bench; and when she could speak again she asked him:
“Why not to-day?”
“Do you want to rob Monseigneur of the triumph of your baptism and conversion? You are too close to Lucien not to be far from God.”
“Yes, I was not thinking——”
“You will never be of any religion,” said the priest, with a touch of the deepest irony.
“God is good,” said she; “He can read my heart.”
Conquered by the exquisite artlessness and gestures, Herrera kissed her on the forehead for the first time.