He came in, the same apparently shy, silent, portly man as at Nulle, in his gold spectacles. But he came up kindly to me, and shook hands. "My doubts turn upon serious points, Miss Hereford," pursued Mrs. Paler. "If I thought you would undermine the faith of my children and imbue them with Roman Catholic doctrines——" "Mrs. Paler!" I interrupted in surprise. "I told you I was a Protestant, brought up strictly in the tenets of the Church of England. Your children are of the same faith: there is little fear, then, that I should seek to undermine it. I know of none better in the world." "You must excuse my anxiety, Miss Hereford. Can you conscientiously assure me that you hate all Roman Catholics?" I looked at her in amazement. And she looked at me, waiting for my answer. A smile, unless I mistook, crossed the lips of Mr. Paler. "Oh, Mrs. Paler, what would my own religion be worth if I could hate? Believe me there are excellent Christians amidst the Roman Catholics, as there are amidst us. People who are striving to do their duty in this world, living and working on for the next. Look at the Miss Barlieus! I love them dearly; every one respects them: but I would not change my religion for theirs." "Is it the fact of your having spent four years in their house that makes me doubtful. But I think can trust you; you look so sincere and true. The alarming number of converts to Romanism which we have of late years been obliged to witness, must make us all fearful." "Perverts, if you please," interrupted Mr. Paler. "When I hear of our folks going over to the Romish faith, I always suspect they are those who have not done their duty in their own. A man may find all he wants in his own religion, if he only looks out for it." "Oh, that's very true," I exclaimed, my eyes sparkling, glad, somehow, to hear him say it. "It is what I have been trying to express to Mrs. Paler." "She has got her head full of some nonsensical fear that her children should be turned into Roman Catholics—I suppose because we are in a Catholic country," he resumed, looking at his wife through his glasses. "She'll talk about it till she turns into one herself, if she doesn't mind; that's the way the mania begins. There's no more fear of sensible people turning Catholics than there is of my turning Dutchman: as to the children, the notion is simply absurd. And what sort of weather have you had at Nulle, Miss Hereford, since we left it?" "Not very fine. Yesterday it poured with rain all day." "Ah. That would make it pleasant for travelling, though." "Yes: it laid the dust." "Did you travel alone?" "Oh, no; the Miss Barlieus would not have allowed it. It is not etiquette in France for a young lady to go out even for a walk alone. An acquaintance of Miss Barlieus, Madame Bernadotte, who was journeying to Paris, accompanied me." "Well, I hope you will be comfortable here," he concluded. "Thank you; I hope so."