f man he is; he has less sense than a baby! Any
miserable peasant who meets him can make him believe anything he wishes.
Any great falsehood brings tears to his eyes, and then they can do what
they like with him. In that way they take the very shoes off his feet
and the bread from his mouth. Bertrande's daughter, messieurs, is no
more ill than you or I!"

"Enough," said the priest, sternly, "enough." Then, knowing by
experience that his voice had not the power to check her flood of
reproaches, he took her by the arm and led her out into the passage.

M. de Sairmeuse and his son exchanged a glance of consternation.

Was this a comedy that had been prepared for their benefit? Evidently
not, since their arrival had not been expected.

But the priest, whose character had been so plainly revealed by this
quarrel with his domestic, was not a man to their taste.

At least, he was evidently not the man they had hoped to find--not the
auxiliary whose assistance was indispensable to the success of their
plans.

Yet they did not exchange a word; they listened.

They heard the sound as of a discussion in the passage. The master spoke
in low tones, but with an unmistakable accent of command; the servant
uttered an astonished exclamation.

But the listeners could not distinguish a word.

Soon the priest re-entered the apartment.

"I hope, gentlemen," he said, with a dignity that could not fail to
check any attempt at raillery, "that you will excuse this ridiculous
scene. The cure of Sairmeuse, thank God! is not so poor as she says."

Neither the duke nor Martial made any response.

Even their remarkable assurance was very sensibly diminished; and M. de
Sairmeuse deemed it advisable to change the subject.

This he did, by relating the events which he had just witnessed in
Paris, and by insisting that His Majesty, Louis XVIII., had been
welcomed with enthusiasm and transports of affection.

Fortunately, the old housekeeper interrupted this recital.

She entered, loaded with china, silver, and bottles, and behind her came
a large man in a white apron, bearing three or four covered dishes in
his hands.

It was the order to go and obtain this repast from the village inn which
had drawn from Bibiaine so many exclamations of wonder and dismay in the
passage.

A moment later the cure and his guests took their places at the table.

Had the much-lamented chicken constituted the dinner the rations would
have been "short."