Archangias was always on
the watch to keep out the sunlight, to prevent even a whiff of air from
entering, to shut up his prison so completely that nothing from outside
could gain access to it. He noted the Abbe's slightest fits of weakness,
and by his glance divined his tender thoughts, which with a word he
pitilessly crushed, as though they were poisonous vermin. The priest's
intervals of silence, his smiles, the paling of his brow, the faint
quivering of his limbs, were all noted by the Brother. But he never
spoke openly of the transgression. His presence alone was a sufficient
reproach. The manner in which he uttered certain words imparted to them
all the sting of a whip stroke. With a mere gesture he expressed his
utter disgust for the priest's sin. Like one of those betrayed husbands
who enjoy torturing their wives with cruel allusions, he contented
himself with recalling the scene at the Paradou, in an indirect fashion,
by some word or phrase which sufficed to annihilate the Abbe, whenever
the latter's flesh rebelled.

It was nearly ten o'clock and most of the villagers of Les Artaud had
retired to rest. But from a brightly lighted house at the far end, near
the mill, there still came sounds of merriment. While keeping the best
rooms for his own use, old Bambousse had given a corner of his house to
his daughter and son-in-law. They were all assembled there, drinking a
last glass, while waiting for the priest.

'They are drunk,' growled Brother Archangias. 'Don't you hear the row
they are making?'

Abbe Mouret made no reply. It was a lovely night and all looked bluish
in the moonlight, which lent to the distant part of the valley the
aspect of a sleeping lake. The priest slackened his pace that he might
the more fully enjoy the charm of that soft radiance, and now and then
he even stopped as he came upon some expanse of light, experiencing the
delightful quiver which the proximity of fresh water brings one on a
hot day. But the Brother continued striding along, grumbling and calling
him.

'Come along; come along! It isn't good to loiter out of doors at this
time of night. You would be much better in bed.'

All at once, however, just as they were entering the village, Archangias
himself stopped short in the middle of the road. He was looking towards
the heights, where the white lines of the roads vanished amidst black
patches of pine-woods, and he growled to himself, like a dog that scents
danger.

'Who ca