ed that advice in a most matter-of-fact tone as if it were a
precaution against a cold, compressed her lips, then returning to her
fixed idea, "But the house is mine," she insisted very quietly with an
accent which made me feel that Satan himself would never manage to tear
it out of her hands.

"And so I told the great lady in grey. I told her that my sister had
given it to me and that surely God would not let her take it away again."

"You told that grey-headed lady, an utter stranger! You are getting more
crazy every day. You have neither good sense nor good feeling,
Mademoiselle Therese, let me tell you. Do you talk about your sister to
the butcher and the greengrocer, too? A downright savage would have more
restraint. What's your object? What do you expect from it? What
pleasure do you get from it? Do you think you please God by abusing your
sister? What do you think you are?"

"A poor lone girl amongst a lot of wicked people. Do you think I wanted
to go forth amongst those abominations? it's that poor sinful Rita that
wouldn't let me be where I was, serving a holy man, next door to a
church, and sure of my share of Paradise. I simply obeyed my uncle.
It's he who told me to go forth and attempt to save her soul, bring her
back to us, to a virtuous life. But what would be the good of that? She
is given over to worldly, carnal thoughts. Of course we are a good
family and my uncle is a great man in the country, but where is the
reputable farmer or God-fearing man of that kind that would dare to bring
such a girl into his house to his mother and sisters. No, let her give
her ill-gotten wealth up to the deserving and devote the rest of her life
to repentance."

She uttered these righteous reflections and presented this programme for
the salvation of her sister's soul in a reasonable convinced tone which
was enough to give goose flesh to one all over.

"Mademoiselle Therese," I said, "you are nothing less than a monster."

She received that true expression of my opinion as though I had given her
a sweet of a particularly delicious kind. She liked to be abused. It
pleased her to be called names. I did let her have that satisfaction to
her heart's content. At last I stopped because I could do no more,
unless I got out of bed to beat her. I have a vague notion that she
would have liked that, too, but I didn't try. After I had stopped she
waited a little before she raised her downcast eyes.

"You