“Monsieur,” replied the baroness, “Monsieur Birotteau’s affairs are no more mine than those of Mademoiselle Gamard are yours; but, unfortunately, religion is injured by such a quarrel, and I come to you as a mediator—just as I myself am seeking to make peace.” (“We are not deceiving each other, Monsieur Troubert,” thought she. “Don’t you feel the sarcasm of that answer?”)
“Injury to religion, madame!” exclaimed the vicar-general. “Religion is too lofty for the actions of men to injure.” (“My religion is I,” thought he.) “God makes no mistake in His judgments, madame; I recognize no tribunal but His.”
“Then, monsieur,” she replied, “let us endeavor to bring the judgments of men into harmony with the judgments of God.” (“Yes, indeed, your religion is you.”)
The Abbe Troubert suddenly changed his tone.
“Your nephew has been to Paris, I believe.” (“You found out about me there,” thought he; “you know now that I can crush you, you who dared to slight me, and you have come to capitulate.”)
“Yes, monsieur; thank you for the interest you take in him. He returns to-night; the minister, who is very considerate of us, sent for him; he does not want Monsieur de Listomere to leave the service.” (“Jesuit, you can’t crush us,” thought she. “I understand your civility.”)
A moment’s silence.
“I did not think my nephew’s conduct in this affair quite the thing,” she added; “but naval men must be excused; they know nothing of law.” (“Come, we had better make peace,” thought she; “we sha’n’t gain anything by battling in this way.”)
A slight smile wandered over the priests face and was lost in its wrinkles.
“He has done us the service of getting a proper estimate on the value of those paintings,” he said, looking up at the pictures. “They will be a noble ornament to the chapel of the Virgin.” (“You shot a sarcasm at me,” thought he, “and there’s another in return; we are quits, madame.”)