iest expressed his
approval, but ventured to remark: 'I think there ought to be a cluster
of more delicate foliage up above.'

'No doubt,' grumbled La Teuse. 'But they only bring me laurel and
rosemary--I should like to know who has brought an olive branch. Not
one, you bet! They are afraid of losing a single olive, the heathens!'

At this, however, Catherine came up laden with an enormous olive bough
which completely hid her.

'Oh, you've got some, you minx!' continued the old servant.

'Of course,' one of the other girls exclaimed, 'she stole it. I saw
Vincent breaking it off while she kept a look-out.'

But Catherine flew into a rage and swore it was not true. She turned,
and thrusting her auburn head through the greenery, which she still
tightly held, she started lying with marvellous assurance, inventing
quite a long story to prove that the olive bough was really hers.

'Besides,' she added, 'all the trees belong to the Blessed Virgin.'

Abbe Mouret was about to intervene, but La Teuse sharply inquired if
they wanted to make game of her and keep her arms up there all night.
At last she proceeded to fasten the olive bough firmly, while Catherine,
holding on to the steps behind her, mimicked the clumsy manner in which
she turned her huge person about with the help of her sound leg. Even
the priest could not forbear to smile.

'There,' said La Teuse, as she came down and stood beside him to get
a good view of her work, 'there's the top done. Now we will put some
clumps between the candlesticks, unless you would prefer a garland all
along the altar shelf.'

The priest decided in favour of some big clumps.

'Very good; come on, then,' continued the old servant, once more
clambering up the steps. 'We can't go to bed here. Just kiss the altar,
will you, Miette? Do you fancy you are in your stable? Monsieur le Cure,
do just see what they are up to over there! I can hear them laughing
like lunatics.'

On raising one of the two lamps the dark end of the church was lit up
and three of the girls were discovered romping about under the gallery;
one of them had stumbled and pitched head foremost into the holy water
stoup, which mishap had so tickled the others that they were rolling on
the ground to laugh at their ease. They all came back, however, looking
at the priest sheepishly, with lowered eyelids, but with their hands
swinging against their hips as if a scolding rather pleased them than
otherwise.

However,