“Greediness?” The Abbe paused to think.  “Carnivorous plants, perhaps, as the fly-trap and the bog sundew.”

“And why not the humbler cuscuta, the dodder, the cuttlefish of the vegetable kingdom, which shoots out the antennae of its stems as fine as thread, attaching itself to other plants by tiny suckers and feeding greedily on their juices?” asked the Abbe Gevresin.

“Anger,” the Abbe Plomb went on, “is symbolized by a shrub with pinkish flowers, a kind of bitter-sweet, as it is popularly called, and by Herb Basil, which ever since the Middle Ages has had the same character ascribed to it of cruelty and rage as to its namesake, the basilisk, in the animal world.”

“Oh!” cried Madame Bavoil, “and we use it to season dishes and flavour certain sauces.”

“That is a serious culinary error and a spiritual danger,” said the priest, smiling.  He then went on:—­

“Anger may also be figured by the balsam, which especially symbolizes impatience by reason of the irritability of its seed-vessels, which fly at a touch and explode, sending them to some distance....

“Sloth finally has the whole tribe of poppies, which give sleep.

“As to the opposite virtues, the explanation they need is childish.  For humility you have the bracken, the hyssop, the knotweed, and the violet, which, says Peter of Capua, is, by that same token, emblematical of Christ.”

“And likewise, according to Saint Melito, of the Confessors; or, according to Saint Mechtildis, of widows,” added the Abbe Gevresin.

“For indifference to the things of this world we find the lichen symbolizing solitude; for chastity, the orange-flower and the lily; for charity, the water-lily, the rose, and the saffron flower—­so say Raban Maur and the Anonymous monk of Clairvaux; for temperance, the lettuce, which also stands for fasting; for meekness, mignonette; for watchfulness, the elder, signifying zeal; and thyme, which, with its sharp, pungent aroma, symbolizes activity.

“You may dispense with the sins, which have no place in the precincts of Our Lady, and lay out your plots with the devout flowers.”

“How is that to be done?” asked the Abbe Gevresin.

“Why,” said Durtal, “there are two plans.  One would be to sketch the plan of a real church and supply the place of its statues with plants, which would be the better way from the point of view of art; or else to compose a whole sanctuary with trees and shrubs.”

He rose, and went to pick up a stick that was lying in the field.

“There,” said he, tracing the cruciform outline of a church on the ground, “there you have the plan of our cathedral.  Supposing now we build it, beginning at the end, the apse; there we naturally place the Lady chapel, as we find it in most cathedrals.

“Plants emblematic of Our Lady’s attributes are abundant.”

“The mystical rose of the Litanies!” exclaimed Madame Bavoil.