Sabine turned sharply and took her in her arms. The box was spilled on the floor: the little girl shouted with glee and ran on hands and knees after the buttons rolling under the furniture. Sabine went to the window again and laid her cheek against the pane. She seemed to be absorbed in what she saw outside.
"Good-night!" said Christophe, ill at ease. She did not turn her head, and said in a low voice:
"Good-night."
* * * * *
On Sundays the house was empty during the afternoon. The whole family went to church for Vespers. Sabine did not go. Christophe jokingly reproached her with it once when he saw her sitting at her door in the little garden, while the lovely bells were bawling themselves hoarse summoning her. She replied in the same tone that only Mass was compulsory: not Vespers: it was then no use, and perhaps a little indiscreet to be too zealous: and she liked to think that God would be rather pleased than angry with her.
"You have made God in your own image," said Christophe.
"I should be so bored if I were in His place," replied she with conviction.
"You would not bother much about the world if you were in His place."
"All that I should ask of it would be that it should not bother itself about me."
"Perhaps it would be none the worse for that," said Christophe.