y the imperiousness with which the Brother so
roughly sought to dominate him, looked up and dryly rejoined:

'That will do, your zeal is very praiseworthy. But haven't you something
to tell me? You came to the parsonage this morning, did you not?'

Thereupon Brother Archangias plumply answered: 'I had to tell you just
what I have told you. The Artauds live like pigs. Only yesterday I
learned that Rosalie, old Bambousse's eldest daughter, is in the family
way. It happens with all of them before they get married. And they
simply laugh at reproaches, as you know.'

'Yes,' murmured Abbe Mouret, 'it is a great scandal. I am just on my way
to see old Bambousse to speak to him about it; it is desirable that they
should be married as soon as possible. The child's father, it seems, is
Fortune, the Brichets' eldest son. Unfortunately the Brichets are poor.'

'That Rosalie, now,' continued the Brother, 'is just eighteen. Not four
years since I still had her under me at school, and she was already a
gadabout. I have now got her sister Catherine, a chit of eleven, who
seems likely to become even worse than her elder. One comes across her
in every corner with that little scamp, Vincent. It's no good, you may
pull their ears till they bleed, the woman always crops up in them.
They carry perdition about with them and are only fit to be thrown on a
muck-heap. What a splendid riddance if all girls were strangled at their
birth!'

His loathing, his hatred of woman made him swear like a carter. Abbe
Mouret, who had been listening to him with unmoved countenance, smiled
at last at his rabid utterances. He called Voriau, who had strayed into
a field close by.

'There, look there!' cried Brother Archangias, pointing to a group of
children playing at the bottom of a ravine, 'there are my young devils,
who play the truant under pretence of going to help their parents among
the vines! You may be certain that jade of a Catherine is among them....
There, didn't I tell you! Till to-night, Monsieur le Cure. Oh, just you
wait, you rascals!'

Off he went at a run, his dirty neckband flying over his shoulder, and
his big greasy cassock tearing up the thistles. Abbe Mouret watched him
swoop down into the midst of the children, who scattered like frightened
sparrows. But he succeeded in seizing Catherine and one boy by the ears
and led them back towards the village, clutching them tightly with his
big hairy fingers, and overwhelming them with abus