nversation with M. de Gondrand on the necessity of re-establishing the
Church in its ancient splendour. And she talked brilliantly.

The Church, she maintained, ought to be a temporal as well as a
spiritual power, stating her case better than the Abbe had done, and
regretting that the Chamber of Peers, unlike the English House of Lords,
had no bench of bishops. Nevertheless, the Abbe rose, yielded his place
to the General, and took his leave, knowing that in Lent he could play a
return game. As for the Duchess, Montriveau's behaviour had excited
her curiosity to such a pitch that she scarcely rose to return her
director's low bow.

"What is the matter with you, my friend?"

"Why, I cannot stomach that Abbe of yours."

"Why did you not take a book?" she asked, careless whether the Abbe,
then closing the door, heard her or no.

The General paused, for the gesture which accompanied the Duchess's
speech further increased the exceeding insolence of her words.

"My dear Antoinette, thank you for giving love precedence of the Church;
but, for pity's sake, allow me to ask one question."

"Oh! you are questioning me! I am quite willing. You are my friend, are
you not? I certainly can open the bottom of my heart to you; you will
see only one image there."

"Do you talk about our love to that man?"

"He is my confessor."

"Does he know that I love you?"

"M. de Montriveau, you cannot claim, I think, to penetrate the secrets
of the confessional?"

"Does that man know all about our quarrels and my love for you?"

"That man, monsieur; say God!"

"God again! _I_ ought to be alone in your heart. But leave God alone
where He is, for the love of God and me. Madame, you _shall not_ go to
confession again, or----"

"Or?" she repeated sweetly.

"Or I will never come back here."

"Then go, Armand. Good-bye, good-bye forever."

She rose and went to her boudoir without so much as a glance at Armand,
as he stood with his hand on the back of a chair. How long he stood
there motionless he himself never knew. The soul within has the
mysterious power of expanding as of contracting space.

He opened the door of the boudoir. It was dark within. A faint voice was
raised to say sharply:

"I did not ring. What made you come in without orders? Go away,
Suzette."

"Then you are ill," exclaimed Montriveau.

"Stand up, monsieur, and go out of the room for a minute at any rate,"
she said, ringing the bell.

"Mme la Duchesse ran