"For the rest," he said, "I should recommend you to abandon all ideas of conventual life, which is quite unsuited to a person of your nervous, excitable nature. You would find neither peace nor happiness; on the contrary, you would be a prey to all manner of scruples and disquieting thoughts. There are those who find a refuge and salvation in a cloister; for you it would be a foretaste of damnation, and in all probability you would end like the hermit who fled from the world to pray to God, and instead of praying, cursed Him."
The eyes of the countess glared at this awful prospect, but she murmured to herself, "True, quite true!"
"The recollection of your faults has banished you from the Church and has robbed you of all power to pray," continued the priest, in a harsh voice.
"True, quite true!" sobbed the countess, and beat her breast. "I can never again enter a church, and I dare not pray." Then with a cry of despair she threw herself at the feet of the abbé, and with feverish strength clasped both his hands, while she screamed out, "Where shall I go, if not to the Church of God? Who shall help me, if I cannot pray to Him?"
The clergyman saw it was necessary to soothe her terrible excitement.
"Your proper refuge is in your own heart," he said, gently, "and your good deeds shall plead for you."
Theudelinde pressed the priest's hand to her burning forehead. Then she rose from her kneeling position and stretched out her arms.
"Command me. Advise me. What shall I do?"
"Return to society, and take the place your rank and wealth entitle you to hold."
The countess fell back a step, and stared at the abbé, her face all astonishment.