“Your situation,” I said, “is a delicate one; on one hand, your domestic happiness, and on the other your duty as a Christian.”  She gave a sigh from her very heart.  “Well, my dear child, my age warrants my speaking to you like that, does it not?”

“Oh, yes, father.”

“Well, my dear child”—­I fancy I noticed at that moment that she had at the outer corner of her eyes a kind of dark mark something like an arrow-head—­“try, my dear child, to convince your husband, who in his heart—­” In addition, her lashes, very long and somewhat curled, were underlined, I might almost say, by a dark streak expanding and shading off delicately toward the middle of the eye.  This physical peculiarity did not seem to me natural, but an effect of premeditated coquetry.

Strange fact, the verification of such weakness in this candid heart only increased my compassion.  I continued in a gentle tone: 

“Strive to bring your husband to God.  Abstinence is not only a religious observance, it is also a salutary custom.  ‘Non solum lex Dei, sed etiam’.  Have you done everything to bring back your husband?”

“Yes, father, everything.”

“Be precise, my child; I must know all.”

“Well, father, I have tried sweetness and tenderness.”

I thought to myself that this husband must be a wretch.

“I have implored him for the sake of our child,” continued the little angel, “not to risk his salvation and my own.  Once or twice I even told him that the spinach was dressed with gravy when it was not.  Was I wrong, father?”

“There are pious falsehoods which the Church excuses, for in such cases it only takes into consideration the intention and the greater glory of God.  I can not, therefore, say that you have done wrong.  You have not, have you, been guilty toward your husband of any of those excusable acts of violence which may escape a Christian soul when it is struggling against error?  For it really is not natural that an honest man should refuse to follow the prescription of the Church.  Make a few concessions at first.”

“I have, father, and perhaps too many,” she said, contritely.

“What do you mean?”

“Hoping to bring him back to God, I accorded him favors which I ought to have refused him.  I may be wrong, but it seems to me that I ought to have refused him.”

“Do not be alarmed, my dear child, everything depends upon degrees, and it is necessary in these matters to make delicate distinctions.”

“That is what I say to myself, father, but my husband unites with his kindness such a communicative gayety—­he has such a graceful and natural way of excusing his impiety—­that I laugh in spite of myself when I ought to weep.  It seems to me that a cloud comes between myself and my duties, and my scruples evaporate beneath the charm of his presence and his wit.  My husband has plenty of wit,” she added, with a faint smile, in which there was a tinge of pride.