—­You are giving away your breakfast, said Marcel.

—­Yes, sir, it is a present from the kind Sisters.  I should have eaten it yesterday, but I preferred to keep it for to-day; you see I have done a good action, she added laughing.

—­I see that the Sisters were very kind to you.

—­Yes, sir, they have converted me, they made me confess and take the
Communion, which I had not done for a long time.

—­That is well, said Ridoux.

The diligence had started again.  A tiny child, emaciated, in rags and with bare feet was running, cap in hand.

He was quite out of breath, and with a little panting, plaintive voice, he cried: 

—­Charity, kind Monsieur le Cure; charity, if you please.

—­Go away, said Ridoux, go away, little rascal.

-My mother is very ill, said the little one:  there is no bread at home.

—­Wait, wait, I am going to point you out to the gendarmes.

The child stopped short, and sadly put on his cap again.

—­Poor little fellow, said the dancer.

And she threw him the other half of the pie.

Ridoux thought he saw an offensive meaning in this quite spontaneous action, for he cried angrily: 

—­Would you tell us then, Mademoiselle, that you have taken the Communion? 
No doubt it was with that piece of meat.

—­Why, sir?

—­In what religion have you been brought up?

—­In the Catholic religion.

—­Is it possible?  Really! you are a Catholic and you keep some pie for your meals on a fast-day, on a Friday!  A Friday! he repeated with an accent of the deepest indignation:  has not your Cure then taught that it is forbidden to eat meat the day on which Our Lord Jesus Christ died to redeem you from your sins?

—­I know it, answered the young girl colouring, but we are not able to attend to religion much.  We do not belong to any parish.

—­What do you mean by “we?” What is your calling?

—­I am a travelling artiste, sir.

—­A travelling artiste.  What is that?

—­I dance character dances, and I appear in tableaux vivants and poses plastiques.

—­Poses plastiques! at your age?  Are you not ashamed to follow that calling?

—­That is the calling which I was taught, sir; I know no other, replied the young girl, whose eyes filled with tears.  I have always heard it said that when we gain our living honourably, we have nothing to reproach ourselves with.

—­Honourably! that’s a fine word!

—­I mean to say, without wronging our neighbour.

—­And you are talking nonsense.  Can you think your life is honourable, when you do not discharge even the most elementary duty of a good Catholic, which is to keep the Friday as a fast-day?  And not only that, you encourage others in your vices; in short, that wretched woman, to whom you have given that piece of meat, you incite her to disobey the Church....