“Yes,” she went on, in reply to a negative on Crevel’s part, “I have fouled my life, till now so pure, by a degrading thought; and I am inexcusable!—­I know it!—­I deserve every insult you can offer me!  God’s will be done!  If, indeed, He desires the death of two creatures worthy to appear before Him, they must die!  I shall mourn them, and pray for them!  If it is His will that my family should be humbled to the dust, we must bow to His avenging sword, nay, and kiss it, since we are Christians.—­I know how to expiate this disgrace, which will be the torment of all my remaining days.

“I who speak to you, monsieur, am not Madame Hulot, but a wretched, humble sinner, a Christian whose heart henceforth will know but one feeling, and that is repentance, all my time given up to prayer and charity.  With such a sin on my soul, I am the last of women, the first only of penitents.—­You have been the means of bringing me to a right mind; I can hear the Voice of God speaking within me, and I can thank you!”

She was shaking with the nervous trembling which from that hour never left her.  Her low, sweet tones were quite unlike the fevered accents of the woman who was ready for dishonor to save her family.  The blood faded from her cheeks, her face was colorless, and her eyes were dry.

“And I played my part very badly, did I not?” she went on, looking at Crevel with the sweetness that martyrs must have shown in their eyes as they looked up at the Proconsul.  “True love, the sacred love of a devoted woman, gives other pleasures, no doubt, than those that are bought in the open market!—­But why so many words?” said she, suddenly bethinking herself, and advancing a step further in the way to perfection.  “They sound like irony, but I am not ironical!  Forgive me.  Besides, monsieur, I did not want to hurt any one but myself—­”

The dignity of virtue and its holy flame had expelled the transient impurity of the woman who, splendid in her own peculiar beauty, looked taller in Crevel’s eyes.  Adeline had, at this moment, the majesty of the figures of Religion clinging to the Cross, as painted by the old Venetians; but she expressed, too, the immensity of her love and the grandeur of the Catholic Church, to which she flew like a wounded dove.

Crevel was dazzled, astounded.

“Madame, I am your slave, without conditions,” said he, in an inspiration of generosity.  “We will look into this matter—­and —­whatever you want—­the impossible even—­I will do.  I will pledge my securities at the Bank, and in two hours you shall have the money.”

“Good God! a miracle!” said poor Adeline, falling on her knees.

She prayed to Heaven with such fervor as touched Crevel deeply; Madame Hulot saw that he had tears in his eyes when, having ended her prayer, she rose to her feet.

“Be a friend to me, monsieur,” said she.  “Your heart is better than your words and conduct.  God gave you your soul; your passions and the world have given you your ideas.  Oh, I will love you truly,” she exclaimed, with an angelic tenderness in strange contrast with her attempts at coquettish trickery.