--Confession! what, good Heavens! You went and knelt before that rascal,
after what I have told you concerning all his like!

--All priests are not alike.

--Ah! you are under his influence already. Doubtless, he is the pearl, the
model, the saint. Thunder of Heaven! my daughter too, but you do not know
that your mother died of remorse of soul because she found a saint, a model
of virtue in that black crew of scoundrels. Stay, be silent, you make me
say too much.

--I don't understand you.

--I will be obeyed and not questioned. Have I the right to expect that from
my daughter?

--You have every right, father.

--Well, I forbid you for the future to put your foot inside the church.

--In truth, father, would not one say that you were talking of some
ill-reputed place?

--Worse than that. Those who enter a place of ill-repute, know beforehand
where they go and to what they expose themselves, which the little fools
who frequent churches never know.

Suzanne made no reply and went down into the garden.

The old governess who bad brought her up and who loved her tenderly, came