My head is in a whirl. But I know now what you mean me to answer. We may not ask for things, or people, or relief from sickness, but we may ask for spiritual qualities; for instance for the advancement of the Church...? Vanity! Vanity! How many years have we been praying for a certain good thing? What have statistics shown us?--I refer to the conversion of France. With a cry Astrée-Luce rose and left the room. I took upon myself to protest to him. She is foolish, Samuelino. You cannot call those convictions deep that were overturned with straws. No, trust me. This is for her good. I have been a confessor too long to go astray here. She has the spiritual notions of a school-girl. She must be fed on some harsher bread. Understand that she has never suffered. She is good. She is devout. But as I told you the other day, just by accident she has never known trouble. Just the same, Eminence, I know her well enough to know that this very moment she is in her chapel, clinging to the altar-rails. She will be depressed for weeks. But just at that moment Astrée-Luce returned. Her manner was agitated and artificially gracious. Will you excuse me if I go to bed now? she asked. (She never called him Father again.) Please stay and talk with Samuele. No, no. I must be going. But before I go let me tell you one thing. The real truths are difficult. At first they are forbidding. But they are worth all the others. I shall be thinking over what we have said.--I ... I ... Excuse me, if I ask you something? Yes, my child, what is it? Promise me you weren't joking. I wasn't joking at all. Did I really hear you say that the prayers of good men are of no...? However. Goodnight. You will forgive my slipping away now? So they took their leaves. I went to bed worried. I was worrying about Astrée-Luce. Was she going to lose her faith? What do bystanders do in such a case? The loss of one's faith is always comic to outsiders, especially when the loser is in fine health, wealth, and a fairly sound mind. The loss of any one or all of these has a sort of grandeur; Astrée-Luce should have the loss of her faith depend on one of the others. It's not a thing one loses in fine weather. I was wakened from a troubled sleep by a discreet but continuous knocking upon my door. It was Alviero, the majordomo. Madame says will you please dress and come to her in the library, please. What's the matter, Alviero? I do not know, Signorino. Madame have not sleeped all night. She have been in the church hitting the floor. All right, Alviero, I'll be there in a minute. What time is it? Three o'clock and one-half, Signorino. I dressed rapidly and hurried to the library. Astrée-Luce was still in her gown. Her face was white and drawn; her hair was disheveled. She came toward me with both hands extended: You will forgive my sending for you, won't you? I want you to help me. Tell me: were you made unhappy by the strange things Cardinal Vaini said after dinner? Yes.