I have worked it all out so.
Besides, the soul of madame is her own. I have not made any claim upon
it, and I will not expect you to do more, m'sieu' le cure."
"It is my duty to speak," protested the good priest. "Her soul is God's,
and I am God's vicar--"
Jean Jacques waved a hand. "T'sh, you are not the Pope. You are not
even an abbe. You were only a deacon a few years ago. You did not know
how to hold a baby for the christening when you came to St. Saviour's
first. For the mass, you have some right to speak; it is your duty
perhaps; but the confession, that is another thing; that is the will of
every soul to do or not to do. What do you know of a woman's soul-well,
perhaps, you know what they have told you; but madame's soul--"
"Madame has never been to confession to me," interjected M. Savry
indignantly. Jean Jacques chuckled. He had his New Cure now for sure.
"Confession is for those who have sinned. Is it that you say one must go
to confession, and in order to go to confession it is needful to sin?"
M. Savry shivered with pious indignation. He had a sudden desire to rend
this philosophic Catholic--to put him under the thumb-screw for the glory
of the Lord, and to justify the Church; but the little Catholic miller-
magnate gave freely to St.
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