Madame de Frontignac threw up her hands, with an expression of
vexation.
"What a pity, my little one, you are not in the True Church! Any good
priest could dispense you from that."
"I do not believe," said Mary, "in any earthly power that can dispense
us from solemn obligations which we have assumed before God, and on
which we have suffered others to build the most precious hopes. If
James had won the affections of some girl, thinking as I do, I should
not think it right for him to leave her and come to me. The Bible says,
that the just man is 'he that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth
not.'"
"_C'est le sublime de devoir!_" said Madame de Frontignac, who, with
the airy frailty of her race, never lost her appreciation of the fine
points of anything that went on under her eyes. But, nevertheless, she
was inwardly resolved, that, picturesque as this "sublime of duty" was,
it must not be allowed to pass beyond the limits of a fine art, and so
she recommenced.
"_Mais c'est absurde_. This beautiful young man, with his black eyes,
and his curls,--a real hero,--a Theseus, Mary,--just come home from
killing a Minotaur,--and loves you with his whole heart,--and this
dreadful promise! Why, haven't you any sort of people in your Church
that can unbind you from promises? I should think the good priest
himself would do it!"
"Perhaps he would," said Mary, "if I should ask him; but that would be
equivalent to a breach of it.
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