The words of Jansenius were confirmed by those of Saint Augustine:—
‘I lived in adultery away from Thee.... For the friendship of this world is adultery against Thee,’
and her own conscience confirmed them both, for it whispered that her obsession for Mademoiselle de Scudéry was nothing but a subtle development of her amour-propre, and what was more, had swollen to such dimensions as completely to blot out God from her universe.
Well, she stood condemned in all her desires and in all her activities!
What was to be done? With regard to one matter at least her duty was clear. She must confess to Jacques that she had lied to him when she said she loved him.
And Mademoiselle de Scudéry ... would she be called upon to chase her from her heart? Oh, the cruelty of it! The horse-face and the plain gray gown ... the wonderful invention in galanterie made by herself and the Grecian Sappho ... the delicious ‘light fire’ of expectancy ... the desirability of being loved in return ... the deep, deep roots it had taken in her heart. To see the figure in gray serge growing smaller and smaller as earth receded from her, and as her new amours—the ‘invisible things’—drew her up, and up with chill, shadowy arms—she couldn’t, she couldn’t face it!
In mental agony she leaned her elbows on the parapet of the bridge, and pressing her fingers against her eyes, she prayed passionately for guidance.
When she opened them, two gallants were passing.
‘Have you heard the mot Ninon made to the Queen of Sweden?’ one was asking.
‘No, what was it?’