hes women who are naturally pious.

The count followed. Masters, children, and servants knelt down, all
taking their regular places. It was Madeleine's turn to read the
prayers. The dear child said them in her childish voice, the ingenuous
tones of which rose clear in the harmonious silence of the country, and
gave to the words the candor of holy innocence, the grace of angels.
It was the most affecting prayer I ever heard. Nature replied to the
child's voice with the myriad murmurs of the coming night, like the low
accompaniment of an organ lightly touched, Madeleine was on the right
of the countess, Jacques on her left. The graceful curly heads, between
which rose the smooth braids of the mother, and above all three the
perfectly white hair and yellow cranium of the father, made a picture
which repeated, in some sort, the ideas aroused by the melody of the
prayer. As if to fulfil all conditions of the unity which marks the
sublime, this calm and collected group were bathed in the fading light
of the setting sun; its red tints coloring the room, impelling the
soul--be it poetic or superstitious--to believe that the fires of heaven
were visiting these faithful servants of God as they knelt there without
distinction of rank, in the equality which heaven demands. Thinking
back to the days of the patriarchs my mind still further magnified this
scene, so grand in its simplicity.

The children said good-night, the servants bowed, the countess went
away holding a child by each hand, and I returned to the salon with the
count.

"We provide you with salvation there, and hell here," he said, pointing
to the backgammon-board.

The countess returned in half an hour, and brought her frame near the
table.

"This is for you," she said, unrolling the canvas; "but for the last
three months it has languished. Between that rose and this heartsease my
poor child was ill."

"Come, come," said Monsieur de Mortsauf, "don't talk of that any more.
Six--five, emissary of the king!"

When alone in my room I hushed my breathing that I might hear her
passing to and fro in hers. She was calm and pure, but I was lashed with
maddening ideas. "Why should she not be mine?" I thought; "perhaps she
is, like me, in this whirlwind of agitation." At one o'clock, I went
down, walking noiselessly, and lay before her door. With my ear pressed
to a chink I could hear her equable, gentle breathing, like that of a
child. When chilled to the bone I went b