turned out by the gross by a Tours firm for exportation.

"Yes," said his wife, laughing, "and these are _sadly neglected_ saints
whose biographies he is preparing."

And as Durtal looked at him inquiringly, Chantelouve, also laughing,
said, "It was their persons that were _sadly neglected_. The subjects
are chosen for me, and it does seem as if the publisher enjoyed making
me eulogize frowziness. I have to describe Blessed Saints most of whom
were deplorably unkempt: Labre, who was so lousy and ill-smelling as to
disgust the beasts in the stables; Saint Cunegonde who 'through
humility' neglected her body; Saint Oportune who never used water and
who washed her bed only with her tears; Saint Silvia who never removed
the grime from her face; Saint Radegonde who never changed her hair
shirt and who slept on a cinder pile; and how many others, around whose
heads I must draw a golden halo!"

"There are worse than those," said Durtal. "Read the life of Marie
Alacoque. You will see that she, to mortify herself, licked up with her
tongue the dejections of one sick person and sucked an abscess from the
toe of another."

"I know, but I must admit that I am less touched than revolted by these
tales."

"I prefer Saint Lucius the martyr," said Mme. Chantelouve. "His body was
so transparent that he could see through his chest the vileness of his
heart. His kind of 'vileness' at least we can stand. But I must admit
that this utter disregard of cleanliness makes me suspicious of the
monasteries and renders your beloved Middle Ages odious to me."

"Pardon me, my dear," said her husband, "you are greatly mistaken. The
Middle Ages were not, as you believe, an epoch of uncleanliness. People
frequented the baths assiduously. At Paris, for example, where these
establishments were numerous, the 'stove-keepers' went about the city
announcing that the water was hot. It is not until the Renaissance that
uncleanliness becomes rife in France. When you think that that delicious
Reine Margot kept her body macerated with perfumes but as grimy as the
inside of a stovepipe! and that Henri Quatre plumed himself on having
'reeking feet and a fine armpit.'"

"My dear, for heaven's sake," said madame, "spare us the details."

While Chantelouve was speaking, Durtal was watching him. He was small
and rotund, with a bay window which his arms would not have gone around.
He had rubicund cheeks, long hair very much pomaded, trailing in the
back and draw