"Though some people don't even believe He exists! Le père Martin didn't- but, of course, he was only a chiffonnier, and doesn't count.

"One day, though, Durien, the sculptor, who's very clever, and a very good fellow indeed, said:

"Vois - tu, Trilby - I'm very much afraid He doesn't really exist, le bon Dieu! most unfortunately for me, for I adore Him! I never do a piece of work without thinking how nice it would be if I could only please Him with it!'

"And I've often thought, myself, how heavenly it must be to be able to paint, or sculpt, or make music, or write beautiful poetry, for that very reason!

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Why, once on a very hot afternoon we were sitting, a lot of us, in the court-yard outside la mère Martin's shop, drinking coffee with an old Invalide called Bastide Lendormi, one of the Vieille Garde, who'd only got one leg and one arm and one eye, and everybody was very fond of him. Well, a model called Mimi la Salope came out of the Mont-de-piété opposite, and Père Martin called out to her to come. and sit down, and gave her a cup of coffee, and asked her to sing.

"She sang a song of Béranger's, about Napoleon the Great, in which it says:

I suppose she sang it very well, for it made old Bastide Lendormi cry; and when Père Martin blaguè'd him about it, he said,

"TO SING LIKE THAT IS TO PRAY!"

"C'est égal, voyez-vous! to sing like that is to pray!

"And then I thought how lovely it would be if I could only sing like Mimi la Salope, and I've thought so ever since-just to pray!"

"What! Trilby? if you could only sing like- Oh, but never mind, I forgot! Tell me, Trilby-do you ever pray to Him, as other people pray?"

"Pray to Him? Well, no-not often-not in words and on my knees and with my hands together, you know! Thinking's praying, very often- don't you think so? And so's being sorry and ashamed when one's done a mean thing, and glad when one's resisted a temptation, and grateful when it's a fine day and

one's enjoying one's self without hurting any one else! What is it but praying when you try and bear up after losing all you cared to live for? And very good praying too! There can be prayers without words just as well as songs, I suppose; and Svengali used to say that songs without words are the best!

"And then it seems mean to be always asking for things. Besides, you don't get them any the faster that way, and that shows!

"La mère Martin used to be always praying. And Père Martin used always to laugh at her; yet he always seemed to get the things he wanted oftenest!

“I prayed once, very hard indeed! I prayed for Jeannot not to die!"

"Well-but how do you repent, Trilby, if you do not humble yourself, and pray for forgiveness on your knees?"

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Oh, well—I don't exactly know! Look here, Mrs. Bagot, I'll tell you the lowest and meanest thing I ever did...."

(Mrs. Bagot felt a little nervous.)

"I'd promised to take Jeannot on Palm-Sunday to St. Philippe du Roule, to hear l'abbé Bergamot. But Durien (that's the sculptor, you know) asked me to go with him to St. Germain, where there was a fair, or something; and with Mathieu, who was a student in law; and a certain Victorine Letellier, who-who was Mathieu's mistress, in fact. And I went on Sunday morning to tell Jeannot that I couldn't take him.

"He cried so dreadfully that I thought I'd give up the others and take him to St. Philippe, as I'd promised. But then Durien and Mathieu and Victorine

drove up and waited outside, and so I didn't take him, and went with them, and I didn't enjoy anything all day, and was miserable.

They were in an open carriage with two horses; it was Mathieu's treat; and Jeannot might have ridden on the box by the coachman, without being in anybody's way. But I was afraid they didn't want him, as they didn't say anything, and so I didn't dare ask— and Jeannot saw us drive away, and I couldn't look back! And the worst of it is that when we were half-way to St. Germain, Durien said, 'What a pity you didn't bring Jeannot!' and they were all sorry I hadn't.

"It was six or seven years ago, and I really believe I've thought of it almost every day, and sometimes in the middle of the night!

"Ah! and when Jeannot was dying! and when he was dead-the remembrance of that Palm-Sunday! "And if that's not repenting, I don't know what is!" "Oh, Trilby, what nonsense! that's nothing; good heavens!-putting off a small child! I'm thinking of far worse things—when you were in the quartier latin, you know-sitting to painters and sculptors.... Surely, so attractive as you are.

...

"Oh yes. I know what you mean-it was horrid, and I was frightfully ashamed of myself; and it wasn't amusing a bit; nothing was, till I met your son and Taffy and dear Sandy McAlister! But then it wasn't deceiving or disappointing anybody, or hurting their feelings-it was only hurting myself!

"Besides, all that sort of thing, in women, is punished severely enough down here, God knows! unless

one's a Russian empress like Catherine the Great, or a grande dame like lots of them, or a great genius like Madame Rachel or George Sand!

"Why, if it hadn't been for that, and sitting for the figure, I should have felt myself good enough to mar ry your son, although I was only a blanchisseuse de fin-you've said so yourself!

"And I should have made him a good wife of that I feel sure. He wanted to live all his life at Barbizon, and paint, you know; and didn't care for society in the least. Anyhow, I should have been equal to such a