before me! Was ever so sweet and good a girl--with her golden eyes and
the look of summer in her face, and her heart all pure! Nothing had
spoiled her--you cannot spoil such women--God is in their hearts. But
you, what have you cared? One day you would fondle her, and the next you
were a savage--and she, so gentle, so gentle all the time. Then, for her
religion and the faith of her child--she has fought for it, prayed for
it, suffered for it. You thought you had no need of religion, for you
had so much happiness, which you did not deserve--that was it. But
she--with all a woman suffers, how can she bear life--and man--without
God? No, it is not possible. And you thought you and your few
superstitions were enough for her.--Ah, poor fool! She should worship
you! So selfish, so small, for a man who knows in his heart how great
God is. You did not love her."

"By the Heaven above, yes!" said Bagot, half starting to his feet.

"Ah, 'by the Heaven above,' no! nor the child. For true love is
unselfish and patient, and where it is the stronger, it cares for the
weaker; but it was your wife who was unselfish, patient, and cared for
you. Every time she said an _ave_ she thought of you, and her every
thanks to God had you therein. They know you well in heaven,
Bagot--through your wife. Did you ever pray--ever since I married you to
her?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"An hour or so ago."