tly
scoffing expression. Hat in hand, he stood there looking very grave, and
followed the service with evident impatience. The sight of the priest
at the altar, his solemn demeanour, his slow gestures, and the perfect
serenity of his countenance, appeared to gradually increase his
irritation. He could not stay there till the end of the mass, but left
the church, and walked up and down beside his horse and gig, which he
had secured to one of the parsonage shutters.

'Will that nephew of mine never have finished censing himself?' he asked
of La Teuse, who was just coming out of the vestry.

'It is all over,' she replied. 'Won't you come into the drawing-room?
His reverence is unrobing. He knows you are here.'

'Well, unless he were blind, he couldn't very well help it,' growled the
doctor, as he followed La Teuse into the cold-looking, stiffly furnished
chamber, which she pompously called the drawing-room. Here for a few
minutes he paced up and down. The gloomy coldness of his surroundings
seemed to increase his irritation. As he strode about, flourishing
a stick he carried, he kept on striking the well-worn chair-seats of
horsehair which sounded hard and dead as stone. Then, tired of walking,
he took his stand in front of the mantelpiece, in the centre of which a
gaudily painted image of Saint Joseph occupied the place of a clock.

'Ah! here he comes at last,' he said, as he heard the door opening.
And stepping towards the Abbe he went on: 'Do you know that you made me
listen to half a mass? It is a very long time since that happened to me.
But I was bent on seeing you to-day. I have something to say to you.'

Then he stopped, and looked at the priest with an expression of
surprise. Silence fell. 'You at all events are quite well,' he resumed,
in a different voice.

'Yes, I am very much better than I was,' replied Abbe Mouret, with a
smile. 'I did not expect you before Thursday. Sunday isn't your day for
coming. Is there something you want to tell me?'

Uncle Pascal did not give an immediate answer. He went on looking at the
Abbe. The latter was still fresh from the influence of the church and
the mass. His hair was fragrant with the perfume of the incense, and in
his eyes shone all the joy of the Cross. His uncle jogged his head, as
he noticed that expression of triumphant peace.

'I have come from the Paradou,' he said, abruptly. 'Jeanbernat came to
fetch me there. I have seen Albine, and she disquiets me. She