my time,
just watching my lettuces grow.'

'And what about your rounds in the park?' broke in the doctor.

'In the park!' repeated Jeanbernat, with a look of profound surprise.
'Why, it's more than twelve years since I set foot in it! What do you
suppose I could do inside that cemetery? It's too big. It's stupid, what
with those endless trees and moss everywhere and broken statues, and
holes in which one might break one's neck at every step. The last time I
went in there, it was so dark under the trees, there was such a stink of
wild flowers, and such queer breezes blew along the paths, that I felt
almost afraid. So I have shut myself up to prevent the park coming in
here. A patch of sunlight, three feet of lettuce before me, and a
big hedge shutting out all the view, why, that's more than enough for
happiness. Nothing, that's what I'd like, nothing at all, something so
tiny that nothing from outside could come to disturb me. Seven feet of
earth, if you like, just to be able to croak on my back.'

He struck the table with his fist, and suddenly raised his voice to call
out to Abbe Mouret: 'Come, just another glass, your reverence. The old
gentleman isn't at the bottom of the bottle, you know.'

The priest felt ill at ease. To lead back to God that singular old man,
whose reason seemed to him to be strangely disordered, appeared a task
beyond his powers. He now remembered certain bits of gossip he had
heard from La Teuse about the Philosopher, as the peasants of Les Artaud
dubbed Jeanbernat. Scraps of scandalous stories vaguely floated in his
memory. He rose, making a sign to the doctor that he wished to leave
this house, where he seemed to inhale an odour of damnation. But, in
spite of his covert fears, a strange feeling of curiosity made him
linger. He simply walked to the end of the garden, throwing a searching
glance into the vestibule, as if to see beyond it, behind the walls. All
he could perceive, however, through the gaping doorway, was the black
staircase. So he came back again, and sought for some hole, some glimpse
of that sea of foliage which he knew was near by the mighty murmur that
broke upon the house, like the sound of waves.

'And is the little one well?' asked the doctor, taking up his hat.

'Pretty well,' answered Jeanbernat. 'She's never here. She often
disappears all day long--still, she may be in the upstair rooms.'

He raised his head and called: 'Albine! Albine!' Then with a shrug of
his s