“No, not her face,” I rejoined, and added to myself, “No, not her face, but all the rest!”

It is none the less true that for some time past this secret has been oppressing me, and, though I decided to-day to reveal it to you, it was because it seems to me that to do so would quiet my conscience.

But, for Heaven’s sake, let me entreat you, do not noise abroad the affair!

CHAPTER IV

SOUVENIRS OF LENT

The faithful are flocking up the steps of the temple; spring toilettes already glitter in the sun; trains sweep the dust with their long flowing folds; feathers and ribbons flutter; the bell chimes solemnly, while carriages keep arriving at a trot, depositing upon the pavement all that is most pious and most noble in the Faubourg, then draw up in line at the farther end of the square.

Be quick, elbow your way through the crowd if you want a good place; the Abbe Gelon preaches to-day on abstinence, and when the Abbe Gelon preaches it is as if Patti were singing.

Enter Madame, pushes the triple door, which recloses heavily, brushes with rapid fingers the holywater sprinkler which that pious old man holds out, and carefully makes a graceful little sign of the cross so as not to spot her ribbons.

Do you hear these discreet and aristocratic whisperings?

“Good morning, my dear.”

“Good morning, dear.  It is always on abstinence that he preaches, is it not?  Have you a seat?”

“Yes, yes, come with me.  You have got on your famous bonnet, I see?”

“Yes; do you like it?  It is a little showy, is it not?  What a multitude of people!  Where is your husband?”

“Showy!  Oh, no, it is splendid.  My husband is in the churchwarden’s pew; he left before me; he is becoming a fanatic—­he speaks of lunching on radishes and lentils.”

“That ought to be very consoling to you.”

“Don’t mention it.  Come with me.  See; there are Ernestine and Louise.  Poor Louise’s nose, always the same; who would believe that she drinks nothing stronger than water?”

The ladies push their way among the chairs, some of which they upset with the greatest unconcern.

Arrived at their places they sink down on their knees, and, moist-eyed and full of feeling, cast a look of veiled adoration toward the high altar, then hide their faces with their gloved hands.

For a very few minutes they gracefully deprecate themselves in the eyes of the Lord, then, taking their seats, coquettishly arrange the immense bows of their bonnet-strings, scan the assembly through a gold eyeglass, with the little finger turning up; finally, while smoothing down the satin folds of a dress difficult to keep in place, they scatter, right and left, charming little recognitions and delightful little smiles.

“Are you comfortable, dear?”