Combeferre hummed softly and held her a little closer. Indulgent or no, Sybil had a way of thoughtfully bringing him back to earth that he already cherished. Combeferre was no Voltaire, with his gleeful mocking of the Divine, and certainly no Robspierre, with all his hated and fear of the Church. He felt the push and pull of faith and reason keenly, and had ultimately planted his flag on Reason’s shore. But faith had a pull of its own - and was that so very terrible?

He knew next to nothing about Sybil’s grandmother, but had no difficulty in conjuring up the image of an angry titled matriarch. “I swear it,” he chuckled. “She will not know that I have dragged you into papistry - at least not from my lips."