"Herr Chatelain," she answered eagerly, the blood that had mounted to her
cheeks from female weakness, deepening to, and warming, her very temples
with a holier sentiment: "Herr Chatelain, we wept together when alone; we
prayed for our enemies as for ourselves, but naught was said to the
prejudice of poor Jacques--no, not a whisper."
"Wept and prayed!" repeated the judge, looking from the child to the
father, in the manner of a man that fancied he did not hear aright.
"I said both, mein Herr; if the former was a weakness, the latter was a
duty."
"This is strange language in the mouth of a Leadsman's child!"
Christine appeared at a loss, for a moment, to comprehend his meaning;
but, passing a hand across her fair brow she continued:
"I think I understand what you would say, mein Herr," she said; "the world
believes us to be without feeling and without hope. We are what we seem in
the eyes of others because the law makes it so, but we are in our hearts
like all around us, Herr Chatelain--with this difference, that, feeling
our abasement among men, we lean more closely and more affectionately on
God.
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