wrong, father?"

"There are pious falsehoods which the Church excuses, for in such cases
it only takes into consideration the intention and the greater glory of
God. I can not, therefore, say that you have done wrong. You have not,
have you, been guilty toward your husband of any of those excusable acts
of violence which may escape a Christian soul when it is struggling
against error? For it really is not natural that an honest man should
refuse to follow the prescription of the Church. Make a few concessions
at first."

"I have, father, and perhaps too many," she said, contritely.

"What do you mean?"

"Hoping to bring him back to God, I accorded him favors which I ought to
have refused him. I may be wrong, but it seems to me that I ought to
have refused him."

"Do not be alarmed, my dear child, everything depends upon degrees, and
it is necessary in these matters to make delicate distinctions."

"That is what I say to myself, father, but my husband unites with his
kindness such a communicative gayety--he has such a graceful and natural
way of excusing his impiety--that I laugh in spite of myself when I ought
to weep. It seems to me that a cloud comes between myself and my duties,
and my scruples evaporate beneath the charm of his presence and his wit.
My husband has plenty of wit," she added, with a faint smile, in which
there was a tinge of pride.