om the blow, she bounded to her feet
and fled, sheltering her head between her hands. But Bambousse had time
to fling two more clods at her, and if the first only grazed her left
shoulder, the next caught her full on the base of the spine, with such
force that she fell upon her knees.

'Bambousse!' cried the priest, as he wrenched from the peasant's hand a
number of stones which he had just picked up.

'Let be, Monsieur le Cure,' said the other. 'It was only soft earth.
I ought to have thrown these stones at her. It's easy to see that you
don't know girls. Hard as nails, all of them. I might duck that one in
the well, I might break all her bones with a cudgel, and she'd still be
just the same. But I've got my eye on her, and if I catch her!... Ah!
well, they are all like that.'

He was already comforted. He took a good pull at a big flat bottle of
wine, encased in wicker-work, which lay warming on the hot ground.
And breaking once more into a laugh, he said: 'If I only had a glass,
Monsieur le Cure, I would offer you some with pleasure.'

'So then,' again asked the priest, 'this marriage?'

'No, it can't be; I should get laughed at. Rosalie is a stout wench.
She's worth a man to me. I shall have to hire a lad the day she goes
off.... We can have another talk about it after the vintage. Besides, I
don't want to be robbed. Give and take, say I. That's fair. What do you
think?'

Nevertheless for another long half-hour did the priest remain there
preaching to Bambousse, speaking to him of God, and plying him with all
the reasons suited to the circumstances. But the old man had resumed
his work; he shrugged his shoulders, jested, and grew more and more
obstinate. At last, he broke out: 'But if you asked me for a sack of
corn, you would give me money, wouldn't you? So why do you want me to
let my daughter go for nothing?'

Much discomfited, Abbe Mouret left him. As he went down the path he saw
Rosalie rolling about under an olive tree with Voriau, who was licking
her face. With her arms whirling, she kept on repeating: 'You tickle me,
you big stupid. Leave off!'

When she perceived the priest, she made an attempt at a blush, settled
her clothes, and once more raised her fists to her eyes. He, on his
part, sought to console her by promising to attempt some fresh efforts
with her father, adding that, in the meantime, she should do nothing
to aggravate her sin. And then, as she impudently smiled at him, he
pictured hel