“After prayer you may examine yourself with benefit; follow my advice, and you will find the advantage of it.”

“That is all very fine,” thought Durtal, “but when it comes to putting the advice into practice it is quite another thing.  Are not these mere old women’s remedies, precious ointments, quack medicines, for which the pious and virtuous have a weakness?”

They walked on in silence across the forecourt of the palace to the priest’s rooms.  As they went in, they found Madame Bavoil at the foot of the stairs, her arms in a tub full of soap-suds.  As she rubbed the clothes, she turned to look at Durtal, and, as if she could read his thoughts, she mildly asked,—­

“Why, our friend, wear such a graveyard face when you took the Sacrament this morning?”

“So you heard I had been to Communion?”

“Yes, I went into the crypt while Mass was going forward, and saw you go up to the Holy Table.  Well, shall I tell you the truth?  You do not know how to address our Holy Mother.”

“Indeed!”

“No.  You are shy when She is doing her best to put you at your ease; you creep close to the wall when you ought to walk boldly up the middle aisle to face Her.  That is not the way to approach Her!”

“But if I have nothing to say to Her?”

“Then you simply chatter to Her like a child; some pretty speech, and She is satisfied.  Oh, these men!  How little they know how to pay their court, how greatly they lack little coaxing ways, and even honest artfulness!  If you can invent nothing on your own part, borrow from another.  Repeat after the Venerable Jeanne de Matel: 

“’Holy Virgin, this abyss of iniquity and vileness invokes the abyss of strength and splendour to praise Thy preeminent Glory.’  Well, is that pretty well expressed, our friend?  Try; recite that to Our Lady and She will unbind you; then prayer will come of itself.  Such little ways are permitted by Her, and we must be humble enough not to presume to do without them.”

Durtal could not help laughing.

“You want me to become a trickster, a sneak in spiritual life!” said he.

“Well, where would be the harm?  Does not the Lord know when we mean well?  Does not He take note of our intentions?  Would you, yourself, repulse anyone who paid you a compliment, however clumsily, if you thought he meant to please you by it?  No, of course not.”

“Here is another thing,” said the Abbe, laughing.  “Madame Bavoil, I saw Monseigneur this morning; he grants your petition and authorizes you to dig in as many parts of the garden as you choose.”

“Aha!” and amused by Durtal’s surprise she went on:  “You must have seen for yourself that excepting a little plot of ground where the gardener plants a few carrots and cabbages for the Bishop’s table, the whole of the garden is left to run wild; it is sheer waste and of no use to anybody.  Now instead of buying vegetables, I mean to grow some, since Monseigneur gives me leave to turn over his ground, and by the same token I will give some to your housekeeper.”