'Now my soup is too hot!' grumbled La Teuse, as she returned from the
kitchen with a basin, from which a wooden spoon was projecting.

She placed herself just in front of Abbe Mouret, and began to eat very
cautiously from the edge of the spoon. She wanted to enliven the Abbe
and to draw him out of his melancholy moodiness. Ever since he had
returned from the Paradou, he had declared himself well again, and
had never complained. Often, indeed, he smiled in so soft and sweet a
fashion, that his fever seemed to have increased his saintliness, at
least so thought the villagers. But, at intervals, he had fits of gloomy
silence, and appeared to be suffering torture which he strove to bear
uncomplainingly. It was a mute agony which bore down upon him, and,
for hours at a time, left him stupefied, a prey to a frightful inward
struggle, the violence of which could only be guessed by the sweat of
anguish that streamed down his face.

At such times La Teuse refused to leave him, and overwhelmed him with
a torrent of gossip, until he had gradually recovered tranquillity by
crushing the rebellion of his blood. On that particular morning, the old
servant foresaw a more grievous attack than usual, and poured forth an
amazing flood of talk, while continuing her wary manoeuvres with the
spoon, which threatened to burn her tongue.

'Well, well,' said she, 'one has to live among a lot of wild beasts
to see such goings-on. Would any one ever think in a decent village of
being married by candlelight? It shows what a poor sort these Artauds
are. When I was in Normandy, I used to see weddings that threw every one
into commotion for a couple of leagues round. They would feast for three
whole days. The priest would be there, and the mayor, too; and at the
marriage of one of my cousins, all the firemen came as well. And didn't
they have a fine time of it! But to make a priest get up before sunrise
and marry people before even the chickens have left their roost, why,
there's no sense in it! If I had been your reverence, I should have
refused to do it. You haven't had your proper sleep, and you may have
caught cold in the church. It is that which has upset you. Besides which
it would be better to marry brute beasts than that Rosalie and her ugly
lout. That brat of theirs dirtied one of the chairs.--But you ought to
tell me when you feel poorly, and I could make you something warm.--Eh!
Monsieur le Cure, speak to me!'

He answered, in a feeble