bbe replied with confidence:

"Yes, but later on."

Sabot resumed:

"I do not say, I do not say. I am not calling it off, I am consenting
to religion, for sure. But what rubs me the wrong way is, putting it in
practice; but in this case I will not be refractory."

The attendants of the Virgin, having got off their chairs had concealed
themselves behind the altar; and they listened pale with emotion.

The cure, seeing he had gained the victory, became all at once very
friendly, quite familiar.

"That is good, that is good. That was wisely said, and not stupid, you
understand. You will see, you will see."

Sabot smiled and asked with an awkward air:

"Would it not be possible to put off this communion just a trifle?"

But the priest replied, resuming his severe expression:

"From the moment that the work is put into your hands, I want to be
assured of your conversion."

Then he continued more gently:

"You will come to confession to-morrow; for I must examine you at least
twice."

"Twice?" repeated Sabot.

"Yes."

The priest smiled.

"You understand perfectly that you must have a general cleaning up, a
thorough cleansing. So I will expect you to-morrow."

The carpenter, much agitated, asked:

"Where do you do that?"

"Why--in the confessional."

"In--that box, over there in the corner? The fact is--is--that it does
not suit me, your box."

"How is that?"

"Seeing that--seeing that I am not accustomed to that, and also I am
rather hard of hearing."

The cure was very affable and said:

"Well, then! you shall come to my house and into my parlor. We will have
it just the two of us, tete-a-tete. Does that suit you?"

"Yes, that is all right, that will suit me, but your box, no."

"Well, then, to-morrow after the days work, at six o'clock."

"That is understood, that is all right, that is agreed on. To-morrow,
monsieur le cure. Whoever draws back is a skunk!"

And he held out his great rough hand which the priest grasped heartily
with a clap that resounded through the church.

Theodule Sabot was not easy in his mind all the following day. He had a
feeling analogous to the apprehension one experiences when a tooth has
to be drawn. The thought recurred to him at every moment: "I must go to
confession this evening." And his troubled mind, the mind of an atheist
only half convinced, was bewildered with a confused and overwhelming
dread of the divine mystery.

As soon as he had finished his