uette
and the pink patch of tiles on the church.

But, as he walked on, fresh anxiety beset the Abbe. La Teuse would give
him a fine reception; for his luncheon must have been waiting nearly two
hours for him. He pictured her terrible face, the flood of words with
which she would greet him, the angry clatter of kitchen ware which he
would hear the whole afternoon. When he had got through Les Artaud,
his fear became so lively that he hesitated, full of trepidation, and
wondered if it would not be better to go round and reach the parsonage
by way of the church. But, while he deliberated, La Teuse herself
appeared on the doorstep of the parsonage, her cap all awry, and her
hands on her hips. With drooping head he had perforce to climb the
slope under her storm-laden gaze, which he could feel weighing upon his
shoulders.

'I believe I am rather late, my good Teuse,' he stammered, as he turned
the path's last bend.

La Teuse waited till he stood quite close before her. She then gave him
a furious glance, and, without a word, turned and stalked before him
into the dining-room, banging her big heels upon the floor-tiles and so
rigid with ire that she hardly limped at all.

'I have had so many things to do,' began the priest, scared by this dumb
reception. 'I have been running about all the morning.'

But she cut him short with another look, so fixed, so full of anger,
that he felt his legs give way under him. He sat down, and began to eat.
She waited on him in the sharp, mechanical manner of an automaton, all
but breaking the plates with the violence with which she set them down.
The silence became so awful that, choking with emotion, he was unable to
swallow his third mouthful.

'My sister has had her luncheon?' he asked. 'Quite right of her.
Luncheon should always be served whenever I am kept out.'

No answer came. La Teuse stood there waiting to remove his plate as
soon as he should have emptied it. Thereupon, feeling that he could
not possibly eat with those implacable eyes crushing him, he pushed his
plate away. This angry gesture acted on La Teuse like a whip stroke,
rousing her from her obstinate stiffness. She fairly jumped.

'Ah! that's how it is!' she exclaimed. 'There you are again, losing your
temper! Very well, I am off; you can pay my fare, so that I may go back
home. I have had enough of Les Artaud, and your church, and everything
else!'

She took off her apron with trembling hands.

'You must have