to the right and left hands of
the Cure, who, looking at each hand alternately, said:

"What are these little things? They are very heavy; there must be money
in them. Yes, but how much, how much?"

The Abbe Constantin was seventy-two, and much money had passed through
his hands, but this money had come to him in small sums, and the idea
of such an offering as this had never entered his head. Two thousand
francs! Never had he had so much in his possession--no, not even one
thousand. He stammered:

"I am very grateful to you, Madame; you are very good, Mademoiselle--"

But after all he could not thank them enough, and Jean thought it
necessary to come to his assistance.

"They have given you two thousand francs!"

And then, full of warmest gratitude; the Cure cried:

"Two thousand francs! Two thousand francs for my poor!"

Pauline suddenly reappeared.

"Here, Pauline," said the Cure, "put away this money, and take care--"

Old Pauline filled many positions in this simple household: cook,
maid-of-all-work, treasurer, dispenser. Her hands received with a
respectful tremble these two little 'rouleaux' which represented so much
misery alleviated, so much suffering relieved.

"One thousand francs a month! But there will be no poor left in the
country."

"That is just what I wish. I am rich, very rich, and so is my sister;
she is even richer than I am, because a young girl has not so many
expenses, while I--Ah! well, I spend all that I can--all that I can.
When one has a great deal of money, too much, more than one feels to
be just, tell me, Monsieur le Cure, is there any other way of obtaining
pardon than to keep one's hands open, and give, give, give, all one
can, and as usefully as one can? Besides, you can give me something in
return;" and, turning to Pauline, "Will you be so kind as to give me a
glass of water? No, nothing else; a glass of cold water; I am dying of
thirst."

"And I," said Bettina, laughing, while Pauline ran to fetch the water,
"I am dying of something else-of hunger, to tell the truth. Monsieur
le Cure--I know that I am going to be dreadfully intrusive; I see your
cloth is laid--could you not invite us to dinner?"

"Bettina!" said Mrs. Scott.

"Let me alone, Susie, let me alone. Won't you, Monsieur le Cure? I am
sure you will."

But he could find no reply. The old Cure hardly knew where he was. They
had taken his vicarage by storm; they were Catholics; they had promised
him one thous