She finds me sunk in reflection.

She looks at me, like a frail and frightened mother; and this solicitude which she brings me is enough by itself to calm and comfort me.
I point out to her the dressed-up commotion below us, and make some bitter remark on the folly of these people who vainly gather in the church, and go to pray there, to talk all alone.

Some of them believe; and the rest say to them, "I do the same as you." Marie does not argue the basis of religion.

"Ah," she says, "I've never thought clearly about it, never.

They've always spoken of God to me, and I've always believed in Him.