ch spoke truly, her first
innocence was restored. Helen hugged the idea with almost childish
satisfaction. Now she could go back to the Villa Vallorbes in peace,
and take what measure----

She left the sentence unfinished. Even in thought it is often an error
to define. Let the future and her intentions regarding it remain in the
vague! She signed to Zelie Forestier--seated on the steps of a
side-chapel, yellow-paper-covered novel in hand--to follow her. And,
after making a genuflexion before the altar of Our Lady of the
Immaculate Conception, gathered up her turquoise-coloured skirts--the
yellow-tufa quarries were not superabundantly clean--and pursued her
way towards the great main door. The benevolent priest, charmed by her
grace of movement, watched her from his place in the confessional,
although another penitent now kneeled within the greasy curtain. Verily
the delinquencies of so delectable a piece of womanhood were easily
comprehensible! Neither God nor man, in such a case, would be extreme
to mark what was done amiss.--Moreover, had she not promised generous
gifts alike to church and poor? The sin which in an ugly woman is
clearly mortal, in a pretty one becomes little more than venial. Making
which reflection a kindly, fat chuckle shook his big paunch, and,
crossing himself, he turned his attention to the voice murmuring from
behind the wooden lattice at his side.

Yet it would appear that abstract justice judged less leniently of the
position. For, passing out on to the portico--about the base of whose
enormous columns half-naked beggars clustered, exposing sores and
mutilations, shrilly clamouring for alms--the dazzling glare of the
empty, sun-scorched piazza behind him, Helen came face to face with no
less a personage than M. Paul Destournelle.

It was as though some one had struck her. The scene reeled before her
eyes. Then her temper rose as in resentment of insult. To avoid all
chance of such a meeting she had selected this church in an
unfashionable quarter of the town. Here, at least, she had reckoned
herself safe from molestation. And, that precisely in the hour of
peace, the hour of politic insurance against accident, this accident of
all others should befall her, was maddening! But anger did not lessen
her perspicacity. How to inflict the maximum of discomfort upon M.
Destournelle with the minimum of risk to herself was the question. An
interview was inevitable. She wanted, very certainly, to get