Few of us know what we are to come to certainly, but for all that had happened yet I had good hopes of living and dying a sober-minded Protestant. There was a hollowness within and a flourish around “Holy Church” which tempted me but moderately. I went on my way pondering many things. Whatever Romanism may be, there are good Romanists. This man Emanuel seemed of the best—touched with superstition, influenced by priestcraft, yet wondrous for fond faith, for pious devotion, for sacrifice of self, for charity unbounded. It remained to see how Rome, by her agents, handled such qualities—whether she cherished them for their own sake and for God’s, or put them out to usury and made booty of the interest.

By the time I reached home it was sundown. Goton had kindly saved me a portion of dinner, which indeed I needed. She called me into the little cabinet to partake of it, and there Madame Beck soon made her appearance, bringing me a glass of wine.

“Well,” began she, chuckling, “and what sort of a reception did Madame Walravens give you? Elle est drôle, n’est ce pas?”

I told her what had passed, delivering verbatim the courteous message with which I had been charged.

“Oh la singulière petite bossue!” laughed she. “Et figurez-vous qu’elle me déteste, parcequ’elle me croit amoureuse de mon cousin Paul; ce petit devot qui n’ose pas bouger, à moins que son confesseur ne lui donne la permission! Au reste” (she went on), “if he wanted to marry ever so much—soit moi, soit une autre—he could not do it; he has too large a family already on his hands—Mère Walravens, Père Silas, Dame Agnes, and a whole troop of nameless paupers. There never was a man like him for laying on himself burdens greater than he can bear, voluntarily incurring needless responsibilities. Besides, he harbours a romantic idea about some pale-faced Marie Justine—personnage assez niaise à ce que je pense” (such was madame’s irreverent remark)—“who has been an angel in heaven, or elsewhere, this score of years, and to whom he means to go, free from all earthly ties, pure comme un lis, à ce qu’il dit. Oh, you would laugh could you but know half M. Emanuel’s crotchets and eccentricities! But I hinder you from taking refreshment, ma bonne meess, which you must need. Eat your supper, drink your wine, oubliez les anges, les bossues, et surtout, les professeurs—et bon soir!”