"Please what be heretic?" asked Phœbe, demurely, and looking down to conceal the flash of pleasure that danced in her eyes.
"A thing to be abhorred of all Christians. A lost soul defying our holy mother. Beware, daughter, of all such."
"Poor massa!" returned Phœbe. "What him do? When Phœbe gib up idols, she get Jesus. What massa get?"
"There remains nothing for him but the Church's curse, and then—perdition," he solemnly replied.
"Him quite lost den? Do him know it?" asked Phœbe.
"It seems so, and in his apostasy, he is willing it should be so. Be assured, daughter, that nothing has been omitted in the Church's yearning love to bring him to repentance."
"Lost, lost," repeated Phœbe softly; "den de priest can tell ob Him who came to seek and to save the lost. P'raps when de Church put him down, de dear Lord take him up; who knows! De Lord didn't let no meddlin' come to thief on the cross—did it all Hisself."
"Woman! The Lord of the Church acts through His ministers. You talk ignorantly and need instruction, or you also will be a heretic. Beware how you make mistakes."
"Yes, sar, ole Phœbe be bery much 'ware. De debble, him go about here badly," she replied, with a quaint curtsey.
"It will be good that you are removed soon then," he added, perplexed, apparently, by her manner. "And it may be well to inform your mistress that the Count has been removed for change of air, and that his trial is deferred in consequence."