I could scarcely
speak.
'Do you never repent?' she said.
'Yes. But too late, Mademoiselle.'
'Perhaps it is never too late,' she answered softly.
'Alas, when a man is dead--'
'You may rob a man of worse than life!' she replied with energy,
stopping me by a gesture. 'If you have never robbed a man--or a
woman--of honour! If you have never ruined boy or girl, M. de
Berault! If you have never pushed another into the pit and gone
by it yourself! If--but, for murder? Listen. You are a
Romanist, but I am a Huguenot, and have read. "Thou shall not
kill!" it is written; and the penalty, "By man shall thy blood be
shed!" But, "If you cause one of these little ones to offend, it
were better for you that a mill-stone were hanged about your
neck, and that you were cast into the depths of the sea."'
'Mademoiselle, you are merciful,' I muttered.
'I need mercy myself,' she answered, sighing. 'And I have had
few temptations. How do I know what you have suffered?'
'Or done!' I said, almost rudely.
'Where a man has not lied, nor betrayed, nor sold himself or
others,' she answered in a low tone, 'I think I can forgive all
else.
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