new
visitor had condescended to use, said: "His reverence the Cure would be
delighted, enchanted, if Mme. Octave is not resting just now, and
could see him. His reverence does not wish to disturb Mme. Octave. His
reverence is downstairs; I told him to go into the parlour."

Had the truth been known, the Cure's visits gave my aunt no such
ecstatic pleasure as Francoise supposed, and the air of jubilation with
which she felt bound to illuminate her face whenever she had to announce
his arrival, did not altogether correspond to what was felt by her
invalid. The Cure (an excellent man, with whom I am sorry now that I did
not converse more often, for, even if he cared nothing for the arts,
he knew a great many etymologies), being in the habit of shewing
distinguished visitors over his church (he had even planned to compile
a history of the Parish of Com-bray), used to weary her with his endless
explanations, which, incidentally, never varied in the least degree.
But when his visit synchronized exactly with Eulalie's it became frankly
distasteful to my aunt. She would have preferred to make the most of
Eulalie, and not to have had the whole of her circle about her at one
time. But she dared not send the Cure away, and had to content herself
with making a sign to Eulalie not to leave when he did, so that she
might have her to herself for a little after he had gone.

"What is this I have been hearing, Father, that a painter has set up his
easel in your church, and is copying one of the windows? Old as I am,
I can safely say that I have never even heard of such a thing in all my
life! What is the world coming to next, I wonder! And the ugliest thing
in the whole church, too."

"I will not go so far as to say that it is quite the ugliest, for,
although there are certain things in Saint-Hilaire which are well worth
a visit, there are others that are very old now, in my poor basilica,
the only one in all the diocese that has never even been restored.
The Lord knows, our porch is dirty and out of date; still, it is of a
majestic character; take, for instance, the Esther tapestries, though
personally I would not give a brass farthing for the pair of them, but
experts put them next after the ones at Sens. I can quite see, too, that
apart from certain details which are--well, a trifle realistic, they
shew features which testify to a genuine power of observation. But don't
talk to me about the windows. Is it common sense, I ask you,