he accepted the invitation.

Husband and wife had come to the train, delighted to welcome him to
their home. As soon as he saw them, Joseph Mouradour jumped from the
train with a briskness which increased their satisfaction. He shook
their hands, congratulated them, overwhelmed them with compliments.

All the way home he was charming, remarking on the height of the trees,
the goodness of the crops and the speed of the horse.

When he stepped on the porch of the house, Monsieur de Meroul said, with
a certain friendly solemnity:

"Consider yourself at home now."

Joseph Mouradour answered:

"Thanks, my friend; I expected as much. Anyhow, I never stand on
ceremony with my friends. That's how I understand hospitality."

Then he went upstairs to dress as a farmer, he said, and he came back
all togged out in blue linen, with a little straw hat and yellow shoes,
a regular Parisian dressed for an outing. He also seemed to become
more vulgar, more jovial, more familiar; having put on with his
country clothes a free and easy manner which he judged suitable to the
surroundings. His new manners shocked Monsieur and Madame de Meroul
a little, for they always remained serious and dignified, even in the
country, as though compelled by the two letters preceding their name to
keep up a certain formality even in the closest intimacy.

After lunch they all went out to visit the farms, and the Parisian
astounded the respectful peasants by his tone of comradeship.

In the evening the priest came to dinner, an old, fat priest, accustomed
to dining there on Sundays, but who had been especially invited this day
in honor of the new guest.

Joseph, on seeing him, made a wry face. Then he observed him with
surprise, as though he were a creature of some peculiar race, which he
had never been able to observe at close quarters. During the meal he
told some rather free stories, allowable in the intimacy of the family,
but which seemed to the Merouls a little out of place in the presence of
a minister of the Church. He did not say, "Monsieur l'abbe," but
simply, "Monsieur." He embarrassed the priest greatly by philosophical
discussions about diverse superstitions current all over the world. He
said: "Your God, monsieur, is of those who should be respected, but
also one of those who should be discussed. Mine is called Reason; he has
always been the enemy of yours."

The Merouls, distressed, tried to turn the trend of the conversation.
The