"Fear not, little flock. It is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."
Julie observed these fragments, absently at first, then with repulsion. This Anglican pietism, so well fed, so narrowly sheltered, which measured the universe with its foot-rule, seemed to her quasi-Catholic eye merely fatuous and hypocritical. It is not by such forces, she thought, that the true world of men and women is governed.
As she turned away she noticed two little Catholic pictures, such as she had been accustomed in her convent days to carry in her books of devotion, carefully propped up beneath the texts.
"Ah, Thérèse!" she said to herself, with a sudden feeling of pain. "Is the child asleep?"
She listened. A little cough sounded from the neighboring room. Julie crossed the landing.
"Thérèse! tu ne dors pas encore?"
A voice said, softly, in the darkness, "Je t'attendais, mademoiselle."
Julie went to the child's bed, put down her candle, and stooped to kiss her.
The child's thin hand caressed her cheek.