enormous strength.

"Lucien!" she murmured.

"Love is there, the woman is not far behind," said the priest with
some bitterness.

The victim of Parisian depravity then observed the dress worn by her
deliverer, and said, with a smile like a child's when it takes
possession of something longed for:

"Then I shall not die without being reconciled to Heaven?"

"You may yet expiate your sins," said the priest, moistening her
forehead with water, and making her smell at a cruet of vinegar he
found in a corner.

"I feel that life, instead of departing, is rushing in on me," said
she, after accepting the Father's care and expressing her gratitude by
simple gestures. This engaging pantomime, such as the Graces might
have used to charm, perfectly justified the nickname given to this
strange girl.

"Do you feel better?" said the priest, giving her a glass of sugar and
water to drink.

This man seemed accustomed to such queer establishments; he knew all
about it. He was quite at home there. This privilege of being
everywhere at home is the prerogative of kings, courtesans, and
thieves.