“Yes,” returned Dr. Dakin meditatively. “One would have thought that convention, or religious prejudice——”
Fontenelle laughed. “She is untouched by either. C’est un vrai caractère, cette chère Anne Page! Until she came to Paris, she hadn’t mixed enough with the world even to know its conventions. Religion? Well, ‘by their fruits ye shall know them,’ and if the fruits of the Spirit are faith and hope, and the charity which suffers long and is kind, there never was a woman who has more absolutely attained the results of religion. It’s not a satisfactory result for the moralist, I admit,” he added.
“But in this very interesting and amazing world, the moralists don’t have it all their own way,” observed the doctor.
“So far as creeds and dogmas are concerned, Anne is a born pagan. It is not that she has examined and rejected them. They simply don’t appeal to her nature. When as young men we first met her, we called her Flora, amongst ourselves. She struck us even then as a curious blend of Madonna and goddess. And the physical appearance has a mental and moral parallel. I remember once when I wanted to tease her, I asked what had become of her religion.
“She looked at me with those childlike eyes of hers and said:
“‘I never had any,—in the sense you mean. By being with René I’m not hurting any one. And it’s only by hurting people one does wrong.’
“Then—I admit it was cruel of me, but I was curious—I said that some people had refrained from doing what she had done, for the sake of example to humanity. Her reply was ‘But apart from religion, people haven’t yet decided what is the right way to arrange their lives.’”
Dr. Dakin smiled. “In view of the modern ferment of opinion, she was right there.”
François pushed his chair back, with a movement of impatience.
“Well now what’s to be done? The tale of her incredibly evil past will spread I suppose, and Dymfield will become impossible.”