“‘As you say, little one, it cannot hurt you here. It shall be my business that it does not. Has the priest been filling your head with his nonsense again? A pest upon his tongue!’
“‘No,’ she said, looking into the fire thoughtfully, ‘it is not that, signor’—she called him signor often, still fearing him in her own childish way—‘he is too busy teaching me my ignorance of the present to think about my past. He is sure that you will come to the confessional before Easter is done. That is his first word in the morning and his last word at night. “Pray for him always,” he says.’
“She stopped suddenly, conscious that she had spoken all her thoughts, and that he was very serious.
“‘But I cannot do it,’ she added presently, in the hope of correcting the impression; ‘that is to say, I cannot pray to lead you, signor, but only that you may lead me always, and that I may obey and love—oh, God knows how I pray to love and thank you!’
“She raised her pretty face to his, and he took her close in his arms, feeling that her big black eyes looked him through and through. It was the soul of the child that spoke, the soul pulsating with love and gratitude and strange hopes. She had found her city, excellency, but it lay in the heart of the man.
“‘Christine,’ said the Count presently, for her words had set him thinking, ‘it is good for a woman to keep her faith, though that faith is best which can say: “I believe in right and wrong, and in God, since I know this distinction.” These priests do well when they bring Christ down into the homes of men; they waste their time when they have nothing but the hereafter upon their tongues. God of my soul, there is more religion in a crust of bread thrown to a hungry man than in all the sermons that man has preached! And there is more truth in a word of sympathy to him that needs it than in all the catechisms of the Churches. That is my creed, child. I need no other—and no prayers—while I live by it. But you, little one, it is good for you to believe what you do, and you may pray for me always as the priest bids you.’
“She mused some time upon his words, and he, avoiding further talk upon a subject which rarely drew a word from him, turned to other things.
“‘Himmel, pretty one,’ said he, ‘this is no refectory for monkish talk. Let me look into your eyes and see what I can read there.’
“She turned her face to him, and it was alight with laughter.
“‘Oh, surely,’ said he, holding her face between his hands, ‘I read many things here—and first a question. You would ask me when I go to Vienna—am I right, sweetheart?’