There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood.
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