Irene listened with pleasure to the subtle, clever, witty phrases of the priest, punctuated by long quotations from Racine, whose name, however, Berra did not mention, speaking of him only as “the most Christian of all poets.” But as the lecture continued, it seemed to grow strangely familiar to Irene, and suddenly she remembered what association it awakened in her mind. A few days previously, Lady Muriel had taken her to the Palazzo of the N⸺ Embassy, to see its famous, beautiful tapestries. One of the rooms was lined entirely with scenes from the story of Esther, embroidered after seventeenth-century designs. The figures, indeed, represented neither Persians nor Jews, but simply French Marquises and Viscounts, who had temporarily doffed their powdered wigs, and had amused themselves by dressing up in Persian disguises. “When I look at Esther,” the witty daughter of the Ambassador had remarked to Irene, pointing to the tapestry, “I always wonder how long she practised and rehearsed fainting, before carrying it out so gracefully!” Listening to Berra, Irene had quite this same impression of an “imitation” Esther! Described by him, the primitive, passionate Jewess became an affected lady of the Court of Louis XV., one of those numerous favourites who knew well how to use their coquetry in order to manage, to their perfect satisfaction, their own little affairs and those of all their relatives and friends! Towards the end of the lecture, the preacher abandoned his tone of levity, and grew serious. In connection with Esther’s fervent prayer, he remarked that if our prayers remain unanswered to-day, it is only because they are so cold and proud. “Imagine, Mesdames,” he said, “a beggar who would approach you in the street, asking for alms, in a cold, proud voice, as though he were demanding his due! Would you not be justly incensed? Would you not turn away and rather bestow your bounty upon one who asks it humbly and in tears? Pray then also to God like humble supplicants, trusting in His mercy and goodness.” Irene returned home, much impressed by these words. “Yes,” she thought—she was undoubtedly to be counted among the proud beggars! She knew her own virtues, and she considered she had a right to demand a reward from God. How would it be if she were to change the nature of her prayers? And, under the impulse of a new hope, she fell on her knees, weeping, sobbing, praying: “Lord! I am but a humble supplicant! I resign all my rights and privileges! I ask only for mercy! Send me happiness—and if that is impossible, then give me at least rest, that spiritual rest for which my soul hungers!”