do everything in a day. When she goes from time
to time to Mass, on Sunday, it does not follow that she is becoming
religious. I am a free-thinker, but I am a father also, and what would you
have a father do when two pretty arms take hold of your neck and a sweet
little coaxing voice whispers to you, "Let me go there, my darling papa."
Hang it, one is not made of wood, after all!

--Neither is the Cure made of wood.

--You make one shiver. Can my daughter have anything in common with your
peasants' Cure? I say again that it is purely for diversion that she goes
to Mass. And I understand it. Where can she show her new dress? And what
place is more favourable for this little display than going into and coming
out of church?

--Then the Church is a spectacle like another. There are chants, music,
tapers, perfumes, flowers, the half-light which comes through the coloured
windows.

--Without speaking of the fellows covered with gold-tinsel who repeat in
unknown language the pater-nosters to which no one listens. It is enough to
make one burst with laughing, and, if I had not my cabbages to plant, I
would go myself now and again and entertain myself at these masquerades
which are as good as the theatres at the fair, and to complete the
resemblance, it only costs a couple of sous.

--But the principal person of the troop attracts the looks, and the danger
is there.

--Your priestling is young then?

--And vigorous. Strong appetites. When I see him rambling in the village, I
begin to say: "Good people, the cock is loose, take care of your hens." It
is like your Cure of Djidjelly.

--I am easy on that ground. The black cock will not come and rub his wings
here. He knows now that he has mistaken the door; they have informed him
regarding me, and he will not be so rude as to come again.

But just at that moment the servant came into the room quite scared, and
said:

--Here is Monsieur le Cure.

--Who? what? said Durand; and turning towards me, Shall I receive him?
Well, we shall have a laugh!

He was still undecided, when Marcel glided into the room.

XIX.

HARD WORDS.

"I will speak, Madame, with the liberty
of a soldier who knows but ill how to
varnish the truth."

RACINE (_Britannicus_).

The old soldier, upright, with his hand leaning on the back of his
arm-chair, let the priest come forward with all the agreeableness of a
mastiff which is making ready to bite.

The latter bowed gravel