o far on this subject and asserted that the
priests ought to be turned into the streets and have their shops shut
up, Lisa, shrugged her shoulders and replied: "A great deal of good that
would do! Why, before a month was over the people would be murdering
one another in the streets, and you would be compelled to invent another
God. That was just what happened in '93. You know very well that I'm not
given to mixing with the priests, but for all that I say that they are
necessary, as we couldn't do without them."

And so when Lisa happened to enter a church she always manifested
the utmost decorum. She had bought a handsome missal, which she never
opened, for use when she was invited to a funeral or a wedding. She
knelt and rose at the proper times, and made a point of conducting
herself with all propriety. She assumed, indeed, what she considered a
sort of official demeanour, such as all well-to-do folks, tradespeople,
and house-owners ought to observe with regard to religion.

As she entered Saint Eustache that afternoon she let the double doors,
covered with green baize, faded and worn by the frequent touch of pious
hands, close gently behind her. Then she dipped her fingers in the holy
water and crossed herself in the correct fashion. And afterwards, with
hushed footsteps, she made her way to the chapel of Saint Agnes, where
two kneeling women with their faces buried in their hands were waiting,
whilst the blue skirts of a third protruded from the confessional. Lisa
seemed rather put out by the sight of these women, and, addressing a
verger who happened to pass along, wearing a black skullcap and
dragging his feet over the slabs, she inquired: "Is this Monsieur l'Abbe
Roustan's day for hearing confessions?"

The verger replied that his reverence had only two more penitents
waiting, and that they would not detain him long, so that if Lisa would
take a chair her turn would speedily come. She thanked him, without
telling him that she had not come to confess; and, making up her mind to
wait, she began to pace the church, going as far as the chief entrance,
whence she gazed at the lofty, severe, bare nave stretching between the
brightly coloured aisles. Raising her head a little, she examined the
high altar, which she considered too plain, having no taste for the cold
grandeur of stonework, but preferring the gilding and gaudy colouring of
the side chapels. Those on the side of the Rue du Jour looked greyish in
the light