as to perpetually sacrifice her
person, to abandon herself continually to the caprices of the warrior.

The two Sisters appeared to be deaf to it all, sunk in profound thought.
Boule de Suif said nothing.

They allowed her all the afternoon for reflection, but instead of
calling her "Madame," as they had done up till now, they addressed her
simply as "Mademoiselle"--nobody could have said exactly why--as if to
send her down a step in the esteem she had gained, and force her to feel
the shame of her position.

In the evening just as the soup was being brought to the table Monsieur
Follenvie made his appearance again with the same message as before:
"The Prussian officer sends to ask Mademoiselle Elizabeth Rousset if she
had not changed her mind."

"No, Monsieur," Boule de Suif replied curtly.

At supper the coalition weakened. Loiseau made three jokes that hung
fire; everybody beat their brains for fresh instances to the point; and
found none, when the Countess, possibly without premeditation and only
from a vague desire to render homage to religion, interrogated the older
of the two Sisters on the main incidents in the lives of the saints.
Now, several of them had committed acts which would be counted crimes in
our eyes, but the Church readily pardons such misdeeds when they are
accomplished for the glory of God or the benefit of our neighbors. Then
by one of those tacit agreements, those veiled complaisances in which
every one who wears ecclesiastical habit excels, or perhaps simply from
a happy want of intelligence, a helpful stupidity, the old nun brought
formidable support to the conspiracy. They had imagined her timid; she
proved herself bold, verbose, violent. She was not troubled by any of
the shilly-shallyings of casuistry, her doctrine was like a bar of iron,
her faith never wavered, her conscience knew no scruples. She considered
Abraham's sacrifice a very simple affair, for she herself would have
instantly killed father or mother at an order from above, and nothing,
she averred, could displease the Lord if the intention were commendable.
The Countess, taking advantage of the sacred authority of her unexpected
ally, drew her on to make an edifying paraphrase, as it were, on the
well-known moral maxim: "The end justifies the means."

"Then, Sister," she inquired, "you think God approves of every pathway
that leads to Him, and pardons the deed if the motive be a pure one?"

"Who can doubt it, Madame? An a