he conclusion of peace, he took the cup she brought him. And as he
lingered at table she sat down opposite him and repeated gently, like a
woman tortured by curiosity:

'Where have you been, Monsieur le Cure?'

'Well,' he answered with a smile, 'I have seen the Brichets, I have
spoken to Bambousse.'

Thereupon he had to relate to her what the Brichets had said, what
Bambousse had decided, and how they looked, and where they were at work.
When he repeated to her the answer of Rosalie's father, 'Of course!' she
exclaimed, 'if the child should die her mishap would go for nothing.'
And clasping her hands with a look of envious admiration she added, 'How
you must have chattered, your reverence! More than half the day spent
to obtain such a fine result! You took it easy coming home? It must have
been very hot on the road?'

The Abbe, who by this time had risen, made no answer. He had been on
the point of speaking about the Paradou, and asking for some information
concerning it. But a fear of being flooded with eager questions, and a
kind of vague unavowed shame, made him keep silence respecting his visit
to Jeanbernat. He cut all further questions short by asking:

'Where is my sister? I don't hear her.'

'Come along, sir,' said La Teuse, beginning to laugh, and raising her
finger to her lips.

They went into the next room, a country drawing-room, hung with faded
wall-paper showing large grey flowers, and furnished with four armchairs
and a sofa, covered with horse-hair. On the sofa now slept Desiree,
stretched out at full length, with her head resting on her clenched
hands. The pronounced curve of her bosom was raised somewhat by her
upstretched arms, bare to the elbows. She was breathing somewhat
heavily, her red lips parted, and thus showing her teeth.

'Lord! isn't she sleeping sound!' whispered La Teuse. 'She didn't even
hear you pitching into me just now. Well, she must be precious tired.
Just fancy, she was cleaning up her yard till nearly noon. And when she
had eaten something, she came and dropped down there like a shot. She
has not stirred since.'

For a moment the priest gazed lovingly at her. 'We must let her have as
much rest as she wants,' he said.

'Of course. Isn't it a pity she's such an innocent? Just look at those
big arms! Whenever I dress her I always think what a fine woman she
would have made. Ay, she would have brought you some splendid
nephews, sir. Don't you think she is like that stone l