"But what do you do with your holiday, Citoyenne," said Dangeau, persistent. Mademoiselle smiled a little and blushed a little, smile and blush alike reproving his curiosity, but after a slight hesitation she said: "I go to one of the great churches." "And when you are there?" "Is it the Catechism?" ventured Mademoiselle, and then went on hastily, "I say my prayers, Citizen." "And could you not say them at home?" "Why, yes, and I do, Citizen, but I go to hear the Mass; and then the church is so solemn, and big, and beautiful. Others are praying round me, and I feel my prayers are heard." Dangeau frowned and then broke out impatiently: "That idea of prayer—it is so selfish—each one asking, asking, asking. I do not find that ennobling!" "Is it so selfish to ask for patience and courage, then, Citizen?" "And is that what you pray for?" he asked, arrested by something in her tone. Aline’s colour rose high under his softened look, and she inclined her head without speaking. "That might pass," said Dangeau reflectively. "I do not believe in priests, or an organised religion, but I have my own creed. I believe in one Supreme Being from whom flows that tide which we call Life when it rises in us, and Death when it ebbs again to Him. If the creature could, by straining towards the Creator, draw the life-tide more strongly into his own soul, that would be worthy prayer; but to most men, what is religion?—a mere ignoble system of reward or punishment, fit perhaps for children, or slaves, but no free man’s creed." "What would you give them instead, Citizen?" asked Mademoiselle seriously. "Reason," cried Dangeau; "pure reason. Teach man to reason, and you lift him above such degrading considerations. Even the child should not be punished, it should be reasoned with; but there—" He paused, for Mademoiselle was laughing a soft, irrepressible laugh, that filled the small, low room. "Oh, Citizen, forgive me," she cried; "but you reminded me of something that happened when I was a child. I do not quite know whether the story fits your theory or mine, but I will tell it you, if you like." "If it fits my theory, I shall annex it unscrupulously, of that I give you fair warning," said Dangeau, laughing. "But tell it to me first, and we will dispute about it afterwards." Aline leaned back in her upright chair, and a little remembering smile came into her eyes. "Well, Citizen, you must know that I was only nine years old when I went to the Convent, and I was a spoilt child, and gave the good nuns a great deal of trouble, I am afraid. "The sister in charge of us was Sister Marie Josèphe, and we were very fond of her; but when we were naughty, out came a birch rod, and we were soundly punished.