, in
a grave voice:

"Remember always, my daughter, that le bon Dieu settles things for us
mortals if we leave it all to Him--but if we take the helm in the
direction of our own affairs, it may be He will let circumstance draw us
into rough waters. In that case, the only thing for us is to be true to
our word and to our own souls--and to use common sense."

Sabine looked at him with somber, startled eyes.

"You mean, that I decided to help myself, Father--about the divorce--and
that now I must look only to myself--It is a terrible thought."

"You are strong, my child; it may be that you were directed from above,
I cannot say," and he shrugged his shoulders gently. "Only that the good
God is always merciful. What you must be is true to yourself. _Pax
vobiscum_," and he placed his hand upon her head.

But, for once, Sabine lost control of her emotions and, bursting into a
passion of tears, she rushed from the room.

"Alas! all is well?" said the priest, half aloud, and then he knelt by
the window and prayed fervently--without telling his beads.

But, at breakfast, Sabine's eyes were dry again, and she seemed quite
calm. She, too, had held communion with herself, and her will had once
more resumed the mastery. This should be the last exhibition of
weakness--and the last feeling of weakness; and as she would suppress
the outward signs, so she would crush the inner emotion. All life looked
smiling. She was young, healthy and rich. She had inspired the devoted
love of a good and great man, whose position would give scope for her
ambitions, whose intellect was a source of pleasure and joy to her, and
whose tenderness would smooth all her path. What right had she to have
even a crumpled rose leaf! None in the world.

She must get accustomed even to hearing of Michael, and perhaps to
meeting him again face to face, since Henry was never to know--or, at
least, not for years perhaps, when she had been so long happily married
that the knowledge would create no jar. And at all events, he need not
know--of the afterwards--that should remain forever locked in her heart.
Then she resolutely turned to lighter thoughts--her clothes in Paris,
the pleasure to see Moravia again--the excitement of her trip to
London, where she had never been, except to pass through that once long
ago.

The Pere Anselme came to the station with her, and as he closed the door
of the reserved carriage she was in, he said:

"Blessings be upon your he