Dame Josserande repeated the words with the others, but the refrain of her heart continued: “O Jesus, Infinite Goodness! may he be happy. Deliver him from all evil and from all sin. I have only him to love.... Holy, holy, holy, give me all the suffering, and keep for him all the happiness!”
Can you believe it? Even while piously inhaling the perfume of this celestial hymn the young tenant wished to know what Matheline was saying to God. Everything speaks to God—the wild beasts in the forest, the birds in the air, even the plants, whose roots are in the ground.
But miserable girls who sell the pearls of their smiles are lower than the animals and vegetables. Nothing is beneath them, Pol Bihan excepted. Instead of speaking to God, Pol Bihan and Matheline whispered together, and Sylvestre Ker heard them as distinctly as if he had been between them.
“How much will the fool give me?” asked Matheline.
“The idiot will give you all,” replied Pol.
“And must I really squint with that one-eyed creature, and limp with the lame wretch?”
Sylvestre Ker felt his heart die away within him.
Meanwhile, Josserande prayed: “O ever Virgin Mother! pray for my dear child. As Jesus is your adorable heart, Sylvestre Ker is my poor heart....”
“Never mind,” continued Bihan, “it is worth while limping and squinting for a time to win all the money in the world.”
“That is true; but for how long?”