on, "M. Gravier's
son-in-law, and the first notary who came to the village."

The doctor next turned to a stout man, who seemed to belong half to
the peasant, half to the middle class, the owner of a rough-pimpled but
good-humored countenance.

"This is my worthy colleague M. Cambon," he went on, "the
timber-merchant, to whom I owe the confidence and good-will of the
people here. He was one of the promoters of the road which you have
admired. I have no need to tell you the profession of this gentleman,"
Benassis added, turning to the curate. "Here is a man whom no one can
help loving."

There was an irresistible attraction in the moral beauty expressed
by the cure's countenance, which engrossed Genestas' attention. Yet a
certain harshness and austerity of outline might make M. Janvier's
face seem unpleasing at a first glance. His attitude, and his slight,
emaciated frame, showed that he was far from strong physically, but
the unchanging serenity of his face bore witness to the profound inward
peace of heart. Heaven seemed to be reflected in his eyes, and the
inextinguishable fervor of charity which glowed in his heart appeared
to shine from them. The gestures that he made but rarely were simple and
natural, his appeared to be a quiet and retiring nature, and there was
a modesty and simplicity like that of a young girl about his actions. At
first sight he inspired respect and a vague desire to be admitted to his
friendship.

"Ah! M. le Maire," he said, bending as though to escape from Benassis'
eulogium.

Something in the cure's tones brought a thrill to Genestas' heart, and
the two insignificant words uttered by this stranger priest plunged him
into musings that were almost devout.

"Gentlemen," said Jacquotte, who came into the middle of the room, and
there took her stand, with her hands on her hips, "the soup is on the
table."

Invited by Benassis, who summoned each in turn so as to avoid questions
of precedence, the doctor's five guests went into the dining-room; and
after the cure, in low and quiet tones, had repeated a _Benedicite_,
they took their places at table. The cloth that covered the table was of
that peculiar kind of damask linen invented in the time of Henry IV. by
the brothers Graindorge, the skilful weavers, who gave their name to the
heavy fabric so well known to housekeepers. The linen was of dazzling
whiteness, and fragrant with the scent of the thyme that Jacquotte
always put into her wash