"Monseigneur can be merciless! And yet, when I heard him tell my mother that did he know of my hiding place, he would not betray it, I said to myself: 'How you have misjudged this man!'"
Her comrade had started at the reference to Madame de Bayard, remembering the rendezvous to be kept that night. Juliette went on, with a liquid look:
"Monsieur, I have a favor to ask of you.... All those weeks when I struggled with that purpose from which you tried so faithfully to dissuade me, I did not once dare to set foot in Our Lord's House. But when I threw away that wicked bottle, I found that I could pray once more.... I went to the Carmelite Fathers and made my confession.... I received Our Lord in the Holy Communion ... and my soul began to be at peace again. Now it is Christmas Eve and I should much like to attend the Midnight High Mass, or the Second Mass at daybreak, and I had intended to ask you to take me, but I am upon parole.... Therefore, I entreat of you—pray for me when you make your own Communion. How much I need Divine pardon and guidance ... even you can hardly know...."
His conscience stung. He had not intended to evade the sacred obligation, yet he had wavered as to when he should comply with the command of the Church. He said:
"It shall be as you ask. I shall attend High Mass at the Church of the Carmelites at midnight. Afterward, I have an appointment—at a place some distance from here."
"So late, Monsieur?"
Her glance had not only surprise in it, but fear for him. He said lightly:
"Very late.... I may not get back until—some time near the second breakfast.... Madame Potier will have some hot coffee ready for me...."
She flushed and knitted her small hands together anxiously. She asked:
"Could you not—could you not take me into your confidence?"