If God desired to protect me, he would call her soul to himself, now, while she is repenting of her sins.
Meantime, on my side I have, thanks to that old trump, Hochon, the doctor of Issoudun, one named Goddet, a worthy soul who conceives that the property of uncles ought to go to nephews rather than to sluts.
Monsieur Hochon has some influence on a certain papa Fichet, who is rich, and whose daughter Goddet wants as a wife for his son: so the thousand francs they have promised him if he mends up my pate is not the chief cause of his devotion.

Moreover, this Goddet, who was formerly head-surgeon to the 3rd regiment of the line, has been privately advised by my staunch friends, Mignonnet and Carpentier; so he is now playing the hypocrite with his other patient.

He says to Mademoiselle Brazier, as he feels her pulse, "You see, my child, that there's a God after all.

You have been the cause of a great misfortune, and you must now repair it.

The finger of God is in all this (it is inconceivable what they don't say the finger of God is in!).