Henriette.  Well—­what did you do to get peace?

Adolphe.  What I have suggested:  I became conscious of my guilt, repented, decided to turn over a new leaf, and arranged my life like that of a penitent.

Henriette.  How can you repent when, like me, you have no conscience?  Is repentance an act of grace bestowed on you as faith is?

Adolphe.  Everything is a grace, but it isn’t granted unless you seek it—­Seek!

(Henriette remains silent.)

Adolphe.  But don’t wait beyond the allotted time, or you may harden yourself until you tumble down into the irretrievable.

Henriette. [After a pause] Is conscience fear of punishment?

Adolphe.  No, it is the horror inspired in our better selves by the misdeeds of our lower selves.

Henriette.  Then I must have a conscience also?

Adolphe.  Of course you have, but—­

Henriette, Tell me, Adolphe, are you what they call religious?

Adolphe.  Not the least bit.

Henriette.  It’s all so queer—­What is religion?

Adolphe.  Frankly speaking, I don’t know!  And I don’t think anybody else can tell you.  Sometimes it appears to me like a punishment, for nobody becomes religious without having a bad conscience.

Henriette.  Yes, it is a punishment.  Now I know what to do. 
Good-bye, Adolphe!

Adolphe.  You’ll go away from here?

Henriette.  Yes, I am going—­to where you said.  Good-bye my friend! 
Good-bye, Madame Catherine!

Mme. Catherine.  Have you to go in such a hurry?

Henriette.  Yes.

Adolphe.  Do you want me to go with you?

Henriette.  No, it wouldn’t do.  I am going alone, alone as I came here, one day in Spring, thinking that I belonged where I don’t belong, and believing there was something called freedom, which does not exist.  Good-bye! [Goes out.]

Mme. Catherine.  I hope that lady never comes back, and I wish she had never come here at all!

Adolphe.  Who knows but that she may have had some mission to fill here?  And at any rate she deserves pity, endless pity.

Mme. Catherine.  I don’t, deny it, for all of us deserve that.

Adolphe.  And she has even done less wrong than the rest of us.

Mme. Catherine.  That’s possible, but not probable.

Adolphe.  You are always so severe, Madame Catherine.  Tell me:  have you never done anything wrong?

Mme. Catherine. [Startled] Of course, as I am a sinful human creature.  But if you have been on thin ice and fallen in, you have a right to tell others to keep away.  And you may do so without being held severe or uncharitable.  Didn’t I say to Monsieur Maurice the moment that lady entered here:  Look out!  Keep away!  And he didn’t, and so he fell in.  Just like a naughty, self-willed child.  And when a man acts like that he has to have a spanking, like any disobedient youngster.