mlessly. When he came down from
his bedroom, he stepped along with an air of serenity and victory. La
Teuse was astonished, and went to find Desiree, that he might kiss her;
and both of them clapped their hands, and said that they had not seen
him looking so well for the last six months.

But it was in the church, at high mass, that the priest felt that he
had really recovered divine grace. It was a long time since he had
approached the altar with such loving emotion; and he had to make a
great effort to restrain himself from weeping whilst he remained with
his lips pressed to the altar-cloth. It was a solemn high mass. The
local rural guard, an uncle of Rosalie, chanted in a deep bass voice
which rumbled through the low nave like a hoarse organ. Vincent, robed
in a surplice much too large for him, which had formerly belonged to
Abbe Caffin, carried an old silver censer, and was vastly amused by the
tinkling of its chains; he swung it to a great height, so as to produce
copious clouds of smoke, and glanced behind him every now and then to
see if he had succeeded in making any one cough. The church was almost
full, for everybody wanted to see his reverence's painting. Peasant
women laughed with pleasure because the place smelt so nice, while the
men, standing under the gallery, jerked their heads approvingly at each
deeper and deeper note that came from the rural guard. Filtering through
the paper window panes the full morning sun lighted up the brightly
painted walls, on which the women's caps cast shadows resembling huge
butterflies. The artificial flowers, with which the altar was decorated,
almost seemed to possess the moist freshness of natural ones newly
gathered; and when the priest turned round to bless the congregation, he
felt even stronger emotion than before, as he saw his church so clean,
so full, and so steeped in music and incense and light.

After the offertory, however, a buzzing murmur sped through the peasant
women. Vincent inquisitively turned his head, and in doing so, almost
let the charcoal in his censer fall upon the priest's chasuble. And,
wishing to excuse himself, as he saw the Abbe looking at him with an
expression of reproof, he murmured: 'It is your reverence's uncle, who
has just come in.'

At the end of the church, standing beside one of the slender wooden
pillars that supported the gallery, Abbe Mouret then perceived Doctor
Pascal. The doctor was not wearing his usual cheerful and sligh