of shyness,
without heed of the astonished look with which he observed her. The
priest had stepped aside. That fair-haired maid, with long oval face,
glowing with life, seemed to him to be the weird mysterious offspring of
the forest of which he had caught a glimpse in a sheet of sunlight.

'I say, I have got some blackbird nestlings; would you like them?'
Albine asked the doctor.

'No, thanks,' he answered, laughing. 'You should give them to the Cure's
sister; she is very fond of pets. Good day, Jeanbernat.'

Albine, however, had fastened on the priest.

'You are the vicar of Les Artaud, aren't you? You have a sister? I'll go
and see her. Only you must not speak to me about God. My uncle will not
have it.'

'You bother us, be off,' exclaimed Jeanbernat, shrugging his shoulders.
Then bounding away like a goat, dropping a shower of flowers behind her,
she disappeared. The slam of a door was heard, and from behind the
house came bursts of laughter, which died away in the distance like the
scampering rush of some mad animal let loose among the grass.

'You'll see, she will end by sleeping in the Paradou,' muttered the old
man with indifference.

And as he saw his visitors off, he added: 'If you should find me dead
one of these fine days, doctor, just do me the favour of pitching me
into the muck-pit there, behind my lettuces. Good evening, gentlemen.'

He let the wooden gate which closed the hedge fall to again, and the
house assumed once more its aspect of happy peacefulness in the noonday
sunlight, amidst the buzzing of the big flies that swarmed all up the
ivy even to the roof tiles.

IX

The gig once more rolled along the road skirting the Paradou's
interminable wall. Abbe Mouret, still silent, scanned with upturned eyes
the huge boughs which stretched over that wall, like the arms of giants
hidden there. All sorts of sounds came from the park: rustling of wings,
quivering of leaves, furtive bounds at which branches snapped, mighty
sighs that bowed the young shoots--a vast breath of life sweeping over
the crests of a nation of trees. At times, as he heard a birdlike note
that seemed like a human laugh, the priest turned his head, as if he
felt uneasy.

'A queer girl!' said his uncle as he eased the reins a little. 'She was
nine years old when she took up her quarters with that old heathen. Some
brother of his had ruined himself, though in what I can't remember. The
little one was at school somewhere