She loved God, she loved Jesus, the Virgin
and the saints; she loved the Church and its pomps; she was Catholic
after the manner of Saint Teresa, who saw in Jesus an eternal spouse,
a continual marriage. Gabrielle gave herself up to this passion of
strong souls with so touching a simplicity that she would have
disarmed the most brutal seducer by the infantine naivete of her
language.
Whither was this life of innocence leading Gabrielle? How teach a mind
as pure as the water of a tranquil lake, reflecting only the azure of
the skies? What images should be drawn upon that spotless canvas?
Around which tree must the tendrils of this bind-weed twine? No father
has ever put these questions to himself without an inward shudder.
At this moment the good old man of science was riding slowly on his
mule along the roads from Herouville to Ourscamp (the name of the
village near which the estate of Forcalier was situated) as if he
wished to keep that way unending. The infinite love he bore his
daughter suggested a bold project to his mind.
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