L'Abbe Constantin — Complete Read online

  CHAPTER I. THE SALE OF LONGUEVAL

  With a step still valiant and firm, an old priest walked along the dustyroad in the full rays of a brilliant sun. For more than thirty years theAbbe Constantin had been Cure of the little village which slept there inthe plain, on the banks of a slender stream called La Lizotte. The AbbeConstantin was walking by the wall which surrounded the park of thecastle of Longueval; at last he reached the entrance-gate, which restedhigh and massive on two ancient pillars of stone, embrowned and gnawedby time. The Cure stopped, and mournfully regarded two immense blueposters fixed on the pillars.

  The posters announced that on Wednesday, May 18, 1881, at one o'clockP.M., would take place, before the Civil Tribunal of Souvigny, the saleof the domain of Longueval, divided into four lots:

  1. The castle of Longueval, its dependencies, fine pieces of water,extensive offices, park of 150 hectares in extent, completely surroundedby a wall, and traversed by the little river Lizotte. Valued at 600,000francs.

  2. The farm of Blanche-Couronne, 300 hectares, valued at 500,000 francs.

  3. The farm of La Rozeraie, 250 hectares, valued at 400,000 francs.

  4. The woods and forests of La Mionne, containing 450 hectares, valuedat 550,000 francs.

  And these four amounts, added together at the foot of the bill, gave therespectable sum of 2,050,000 francs.

  Then they were really going to dismember this magnificent domain, which,escaping all mutilation, had for more than two centuries always beentransmitted intact from father to son in the family of Longueval. Theplacards also announced that after the temporary division into fourlots, it would be possible to unite them again, and offer for sale theentire domain; but it was a very large morsel, and, to all appearance,no purchaser would present himself.

  The Marquise de Longueval had died six months before; in 1873 shehad lost her only son, Robert de Longueval; the three heirs were thegrandchildren of the Marquise: Pierre, Helene, and Camille. It had beenfound necessary to offer the domain for sale, as Helene and Camille wereminors. Pierre, a young man of three-and-twenty, had lived rather fast,was already half-ruined, and could not hope to redeem Longueval.

  It was mid-day. In an hour it would have a new master, this old castleof Longueval; and this master, who would he be? What woman would takethe place of the old Marquise in the chimney-corner of the grand salon,all adorned with ancient tapestry?--the old Marquise, the friend of theold priest. It was she who had restored the church; it was she who hadestablished and furnished a complete dispensary at the vicarage underthe care of Pauline, the Cure's servant; it was she who, twice a week,in her great barouche, all crowded with little children's clothes andthick woolen petticoats, came to fetch the Abbe Constantin to make withhim what she called 'la chasse aux pauvres'.

  The old priest continued his walk, musing over all this; then hethought, too--the greatest saints have their little weaknesses--hethought, too, of the beloved habits of thirty years thus rudelyinterrupted. Every Thursday and every Sunday he had dined at the castle.How he had been petted, coaxed, indulged! Little Camille--she was eightyears old--would come and sit on his knee and say to him:

  "You know, Monsieur le Cure, it is in your church that I mean to bemarried, and grandmamma will send such heaps of flowers to fill, quitefill the church--more than for the month of Mary. It will be like alarge garden--all white, all white, all white!"

  The month of Mary! It was then the month of Mary. Formerly, at thisseason, the altar disappeared under the flowers brought from theconservatories of Longueval. None this year were on the altar, excepta few bouquets of lily-of-the-valley and white lilac in gilded chinavases. Formerly, every Sunday at high mass, and every evening during themonth of Mary, Mademoiselle Hebert, the reader to Madame de Longueval,played the little harmonium given by the Marquise. Now the poorharmonium, reduced to silence, no longer accompanied the voices of thechoir or the children's hymns. Mademoiselle Marbeau, the postmistress,would, with all her heart, have taken the place of Mademoiselle Hebert,but she dared not, though she was a little musical! She was afraid ofbeing remarked as of the clerical party, and denounced by the Mayor, whowas a Freethinker. That might have been injurious to her interests, andprevented her promotion.

  He had nearly reached the end of the wall of the park--that park ofwhich every corner was known to the old priest. The road now followedthe banks of the Lizotte, and on the other side of the little streamstretched the fields belonging to the two farms; then, still fartheroff, rose the dark woods of La Mionne.

  Divided! The domain was going to be divided! The heart of the poorpriest was rent by this bitter thought. All that for thirty years hadbeen inseparable, indivisible to him. It was a little his own, his veryown, his estate, this great property. He felt at home on the landsof Longueval. It had happened more than once that he had stoppedcomplacently before an immense cornfield, plucked an ear, removed thehusk, and said to himself:

  "Come! the grain is fine, firm, and sound. This year we shall have agood harvest!"

  And with a joyous heart he would continue his way through his fields,his meadows, his pastures; in short, by every chord of his heart, byevery tie of his life, by all his habits, his memories, he clung to thisdomain whose last hour had come.

  The Abbe perceived in the distance the farm of Blanche-Couronne; itsred-tiled roofs showed distinctly against the verdure of the forest.There, again, the Cure was at home. Bernard, the farmer of the Marquise,was his friend; and when the old priest was delayed in his visits to thepoor and sick, when the sun was sinking below the horizon, and theAbbe began to feel a little fatigued in his limbs, and a sensation ofexhaustion in his stomach, he stopped and supped with Bernard, regaledhimself with a savory stew and potatoes, and emptied his pitcher ofcider; then, after supper, the farmer harnessed his old black mare tohis cart, and took the vicar back to Longueval. The whole distance theychatted and quarrelled. The Abbe reproached the farmer with not going tomass, and the latter replied:

  "The wife and the girls go for me. You know very well, Monsieur le Cure,that is how it is with us. The women have enough religion for the men.They will open the gates of paradise for us."

  And he added maliciously, while giving a touch of the whip to his oldblack mare:

  "If there is one!"

  The Cure sprang from his seat.

  "What! if there is one! Of a certainty there is one."

  "Then you will be there, Monsieur le Cure. You say that is not certain,and I say it is. You will be there, you will be there, at the gate,on the watch for your parishioners, and still busy with their littleaffairs; and you will say to St. Peter--for it is St. Peter, isn't it,who keeps the keys of paradise?"

  "Yes, it is St. Peter."

  "Well, you will say to him, to St. Peter, if he wants to shut the doorin my face under the pretense that I did not go to mass--you will say tohim: 'Bah! let him in all the same. It is Bernard, one of the farmersof Madame la Marquise, an honest man. He was common councilman, andhe voted for the maintenance of the sisters when they were going to beexpelled from the village school.' That will touch St. Peter, who willanswer: 'Well, well, you may pass, Bernard, but it is only to pleaseMonsieur le Cure.' For you will be Monsieur le Cure up there, and Cureof Longueval, too, for paradise itself would be dull for you if you mustgive up being Cure of Longueval."

  Cure of Longueval! Yes, all his life he had been nothing but Cure ofLongueval, had never dreamed of anything else, had never wished to beanything else. Three or four times excellent livings, with one or twocurates, had been offered to him, but he had always refused them. Heloved his little church, his little village, his little vicarage. Therehe had it all to himself, saw to everything himself; calm, tranquil, hewent and came, summer and winter, in sunshine or storm, in wind or rain.His frame became hardened by fatigue and exposure, but his soul remainedgentle, tender, and pure.

  He lived in his vicarage, which was only a larger laborer's cottage,separated from the church by the churchyard. When the Cure mounted theladder to trai
n his pear and peach trees, over the top of the wall heperceived the graves over which he had said the last prayer, and castthe first spadeful of earth. Then, while continuing his work, he said inhis heart a little prayer for the repose of those among his dead whosefate disturbed him, and who might be still detained in purgatory. He hada tranquil and childlike faith.

  But among these graves there was one which, oftener than all the others,received his visits and his prayers. It was the tomb of his oldfriend Dr. Reynaud, who had died in his arms in 1871, and under whatcircumstances! The doctor had been like Bernard; he never went to massor to confession; but he was so good, so charitable, so compassionateto the suffering. This was the cause of the Cure's great anxiety, of hisgreat solicitude. His friend Reynaud, where was he? Where was he? Thenhe called to mind the noble life of the country doctor, all made up ofcourage and self-denial; he recalled his death, above all his death, andsaid to himself:

  "In paradise; he can be nowhere but in paradise. The good God may havesent him to purgatory just for form's sake--but he must have deliveredhim after five minutes."

  All this passed through the mind of the old man, as he continued hiswalk toward Souvigny. He was going to the town, to the solicitor of theMarquise, to inquire the result of the sale; to learn who were to be thenew masters of the castle of Longueval. The Abbe had still about a mileto walk before reaching the first houses of Souvigny, and was passingthe park of Lavardens when he heard, above his head, voices calling tohim:

  "Monsieur le Cure, Monsieur le Cure."

  At this spot adjoining the wall, a long alley of limetrees bordered theterrace, and the Abbe, raising his head, perceived Madame de Lavardens,and her son Paul.

  "Where are you going, Monsieur le Cure?" asked the Countess.

  "To Souvigny, to the Tribunal, to learn--"

  "Stay here--Monsieur de Larnac is coming after the sale to tell me theresult."

  The Abbe Constantin joined them on the terrace.

  Gertrude de Lannilis, Countess de Lavardens, had been very unfortunate.At eighteen she had been guilty of a folly, the only one of her life,but that one--irreparable. She had married for love, in a burst ofenthusiasm and exaltation, M. de Lavardens, one of the most fascinatingand brilliant men of his time. He did not love her, and only married herfrom necessity; he had devoured his patrimonial fortune to the very lastfarthing, and for two or three years had supported himself by variousexpedients. Mademoiselle de Lannilis knew all that, and had no illusionson these points, but she said to herself:

  "I will love him so much, that he will end by loving me."

  Hence all her misfortunes. Her existence might have been tolerable, ifshe had not loved her husband so much; but she loved him too much. Shehad only succeeded in wearying him by her importunities and tenderness.He returned to his former life, which had been most irregular. Fifteenyears had passed thus, in a long martyrdom, supported by Madame deLavardens with all the appearance of passive resignation. Nothing evercould distract her from, or cure her of, the love which was destroyingher.

  M. de Lavardens died in 1869; he left a son fourteen years of age, inwhom were already visible all the defects and all the good qualities ofhis father. Without being seriously affected, the fortune of Madamede Lavardens was slightly compromised, slightly diminished. Madame deLavardens sold her mansion in Paris, retired to the country, where shelived with strict economy, and devoted herself to the education of herson.

  But here again grief and disappointment awaited her. Paul de Lavardenswas intelligent, amiable, and affectionate, but thoroughly rebelliousagainst any constraint, and any species of work. He drove to despairthree or four tutors who vainly endeavored to force something seriousinto his head, went up to the military college of Saint-Cyr, failed atthe examination, and began to devour in Paris, with all the haste andfolly possible, 200,000 or 300,000 francs.

  That done, he enlisted in the first regiment of the Chasseurs d'Afrique,had in the very beginning of his military career the good fortune tomake one of an expeditionary column sent into the Sahara, distinguishedhimself, soon became quartermaster, and at the end of three years wasabout to be appointed sub-lieutenant, when he was captivated by ayoung person who played the 'Fille de Madame Angot', at the theatre inAlgiers.

  Paul had finished his time, he quitted the service, and went to Pariswith his charmer.... then it was a dancer.... then it was an actress....then a circus-rider. He tried life in every form. He led the brilliantand miserable existence of the unoccupied.

  But it was only three or four months that he passed in Paris each year.His mother made him an allowance Of 30,000 francs, and had declared tohim that never, while she lived, should he have another penny beforehis marriage. He knew his mother, he knew he must consider her words asserious. Thus, wishing to make a good figure in Paris, and lead a merrylife, he spent his 30,000 francs in three months, and then docilelyreturned to Lavardens, where he was "out at grass." He spent his timehunting, fishing, and riding with the officers of the artillery regimentquartered at Souvigny. The little provincial milliners and grisettesreplaced, without rendering him obvious of, the little singers andactresses of Paris. By searching for them, one may still find grisettesin country towns, and Paul de Lavardens sought assiduously.

  As soon as the Cure had reached Madame de Lavardens, she said: "Withoutwaiting for Monsieur de Larnac, I can tell you the names of thepurchasers of the domain of Longueval. I am quite easy on the subject,and have no doubt of the success of our plan. In order to avoid anyfoolish disputes, we have agreed among ourselves, that is, among ourneighbors, Monsieur de Larnac, Monsieur Gallard, a great Parisianbanker, and myself. Monsieur de Larnac will have La Mionne, MonsieurGallard the castle and Blanche-Couronne, and La Rozeraie. I know you,Monsieur le Cure, you will be anxious about your poor, but comfortyourself. These Gallards are rich and will give you plenty of money."

  At this moment a cloud of dust appeared on the road, from it emerged acarriage.

  "Here comes Monsieur de Larnac!" cried Paul, "I know his ponies!"

  All three hurriedly descended from the terrace and returned to thecastle. They arrived there just as M. de Larnac's carriage drove up tothe entrance.

  "Well?" asked Madame de Lavardens.

  "Well!" replied M. de Larnac, "we have nothing."

  "What? Nothing?" cried Madame de Lavardens, very pale and agitated.

  "Nothing, nothing; absolutely nothing--the one or the other of us."

  And M. de Larnac springing from his carriage, related what had takenplace at the sale before the Tribunal of Souvigny.

  "At first," he said, "everything went upon wheels. The castle went toMonsieur Gallard for 650,000 francs. No competitor--a raise of fiftyfrancs had been sufficient. On the other hand, there was a little battlefor Blanche-Couronne. The bids rose from 500,000 francs to 520,000francs, and again Monsieur Gallard was victorious. Another and moreanimated battle for La Rozeraie; at last it was knocked down to you,Madame, for 455,000 francs.... I got the forest of La Mionne withoutopposition at a rise of 100 francs. All seemed over, those present hadrisen, our solicitors were surrounded with persons asking the names ofthe purchasers."

  "Monsieur Brazier, the judge intrusted with the sale, desired silence,and the bailiff of the court offered the four lots together for2,150,000 or 2,160,000 francs, I don't remember which. A murmur passedthrough the assembly. 'No one will bid' was heard on all sides. Butlittle Gibert, the solicitor, who was seated in the first row, andtill then had given no sign of life, rose and said calmly, 'I have apurchaser for the four lots together at 2,200,000 francs.' This was likea thunderbolt. A tremendous clamor arose, followed by a dead silence.The hall was filled with farmers and laborers from the neighborhood.Two million francs! So much money for the land threw them into a sort ofrespectful stupor. However, Monsieur Gallard, bending toward Sandrier,the solicitor who had bid for him, whispered something in his ear. Thestruggle began between Gibert and Sandrier. The bids rose to 2,500,000francs. Monsieur Gallard hesitated for a moment--decided--
continued upto 3,000,000. Then he stopped and the whole went to Gibert. Every onerushed on him, they surrounded--they crushed him: 'The name, the name ofthe purchaser?' 'It is an American,' replied Gibert, 'Mrs. Scott.'"

  "Mrs. Scott!" cried Paul de Lavardens.

  "You know her?" asked Madame de Lavardens.

  "Do I know her?--do I--not at all. But I was at a ball at her house sixweeks ago."

  "At a ball at her house! and you don't know her! What sort of woman isshe, then?"

  "Charming, delightful, ideal, a miracle!"

  "And is there a Mr. Scott?"

  "Certainly, a tall, fair man. He was at his ball. They pointed him outto me. He bowed at random right and left. He was not much amused, Iwill answer for it. He looked at us as if he were thinking, 'Who areall these people? What are they doing at my house?' We went to see Mrs.Scott and Miss Percival, her sister. And certainly it was well worth thetrouble."

  "These Scotts," said Madame de Lavardens, addressing M. de Larnac, "doyou know who they are?"

  "Yes, Madame, I know. Mr. Scott is an American, possessing a colossalfortune, who settled himself in Paris last year. As soon as their namewas mentioned, I understood that the victory had never been doubtful.Gallard was beaten beforehand. The Scotts began by buying a house inParis for 2,000,000 francs, it is near the Parc Monceau."

  "Yes, Rue Murillo," said Paul; "I tell you I went to a ball there. Itwas--"

  "Let Monsieur de Larnac speak. You can tell us presently about the ballat Mrs. Scott's."

  "Well, now, imagine my Americans established in Paris," continued M. deLarnac, "and the showers of gold begun. In the orthodox parvenu stylethey amuse themselves with throwing handfuls of gold out of window.Their great wealth is quite recent, they say; ten years ago Mrs. Scottbegged in the streets of New York."

  "Begged!"

  "They say so. Then she married this Scott, the son of a New York banker,and all at once a successful lawsuit put into their hands not millions,but tens of millions. Somewhere in America they have a silver mine, buta genuine mine, a real mine--a mine with silver in it. Ah! we shallsee what luxury will reign at Longueval! We shall all look like paupersbeside them! It is said that they have 100,000 francs a day to spend."

  "Such are our neighbors!" cried Madame de Lavardens. "An adventuress!and that is the least of it--a heretic, Monsieur l'Abbe, a Protestant!"

  A heretic! a Protestant! Poor Cure; it was indeed that of which he hadimmediately thought on hearing the words, "An American, Mrs. Scott." Thenew chatelaine of Longueval would not go to mass. What did it matterto him that she had been a beggar? What did it matter to him if shepossessed tens and tens of millions? She was not a Catholic. He wouldnever again baptize children born at Longueval, and the chapel in thecastle, where he had so often said mass, would be transformed into aProtestant oratory, which would echo only the frigid utterances of aCalvinistic or Lutheran pastor.

  Every one was distressed, disappointed, overwhelmed; but in the midst ofthe general depression Paul stood radiant.

  "A charming heretic at all events," said he, "or rather two charmingheretics. You should see the two sisters on horseback in the Bois, withtwo little grooms behind them not higher than that."

  "Come, Paul, tell us all you know. Describe the ball of which you speak.How did you happen to go to a ball at these Americans?"

  "By the greatest chance. My Aunt Valentine was at home that night; Ilooked in about ten o'clock. Well, Aunt Valentine's Wednesdays are notexactly scenes of wild enjoyment, I give you my word! I had been thereabout twenty minutes when I caught sight of Roger de Puymartin escapingfurtively. I caught him in the hall and said:

  "'We will go home together.'

  "'Oh! I am not going home.'

  "'Where are you going?'

  "'To the ball.'

  "'Where?'

  "'At Mrs. Scott's. Will you come?'

  "'But I have not been invited.'

  "'Neither have I'

  "'What! not invited?'

  "'No. I am going with one of my friends.'

  "'And does your friend know them?'

  "'Scarcely; but enough to introduce us. Come along; you will see Mrs.Scott.'

  "'Oh! I have seen her on horseback in the Bois.'

  "'But she does not wear a low gown on horseback; you have not seenher shoulders, and they are shoulders which ought to be seen. There isnothing better in Paris at this moment.'

  "And I went to the ball, and I saw Mrs. Scott's red hair, and I saw Mrs.Scott's white shoulders, and I hope to see them again when there areballs at Longueval."

  "Paul!" said Madame de Lavardens, pointing to the Abbe.

  "Oh! Monsieur l'Abbe, I beg a thousand pardons. Have I said anything? Itseems to me--"

  The poor old priest had heard nothing; his thoughts were elsewhere.Already he saw, in the village streets, the Protestant pastor from thecastle stopping before each house, and slipping under the doors littleevangelical pamphlets.

  Continuing his account, Paul launched into an enthusiastic descriptionof the mansion, which was a marvel--

  "Of bad taste and ostentation," interrupted Madame de Lavardens.

  "Not at all, mother, not at all; nothing startling, nothing loud. It isadmirably furnished, everything done with elegance and originality. Anincomparable conservatory, flooded with electric light; the buffet wasplaced in the conservatory under a vine laden with grapes, which onecould gather by handfuls, and in the month of April! The accessoriesof the cotillon cost, it appears, more than 400,000 francs. Ornaments,'bon-bonnieres', delicious trifles, and we were begged to accept them.For my part I took nothing, but there were many who made no scruple.That evening Puymartin told me Mrs. Scott's history, but it was not atall like Monsieur de Larnac's story. Roger said that, when quite little,Mrs. Scott had been stolen from her family by some acrobats, and thather father had found her in a travelling circus, riding on barebackedhorses and jumping through paper hoops."

  "A circus-rider!" cried Madame de Lavardens, "I should have preferredthe beggar."

  "And while Roger was telling me this Family Herald romance, I sawapproaching from the end of a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace andsatin; it surrounded this rider from a wandering circus, and I admiredthose shoulders, those dazzling shoulders, on which undulated a necklaceof diamonds as big as the stopper of a decanter. They say that theMinister of Finance had sold secretly to Mrs. Scott half the crowndiamonds, and that was how, the month before, he had been able to show asurplus of 1,500,000 francs in the budget. Add to all this that the ladyhad a remarkably good air, and that the little acrobat seemed perfectlyat home in the midst of all this splendor."

  Paul was going so far that his mother was obliged to stop him. Before M.de Larnac, who was excessively annoyed and disappointed, he showed tooplainly his delight at the prospect of having this marvellous Americanfor a near neighbor.

  The Abbe Constantin was preparing to return to Longueval, but Paul,seeing him ready to start, said:

  "No! no! Monsieur le Cure, you must not think of walking back toLongueval in the heat of the day. Allow me to drive you home. I amreally grieved to see you so cast down, and will try my best to amuseyou. Oh! if you were ten times a saint I would make you laugh at mystories."

  And half an hour after, the two--the Cure and Paul--drove side by sidein the direction of the village. Paul talked, talked, talked. His motherwas not there to check or moderate his transports, and his joy wasoverflowing.

  "Now, look here, Monsieur l'Abbe, you are wrong to take things in thistragic manner. Stay, look at my little mare, how well she trots! whatgood action she has! You have not seen her before? What do you thinkI paid for her? Four hundred francs. I discovered her a fortnight ago,between the shafts of a market gardener's cart. She is a treasure. Iassure you she can do sixteen miles an hour, and keep one's hands fullall the time. Just see how she pulls. Come, tot-tot-tot! You are not ina hurry, Monsieur l'Abbe, I hope. Let us return through the wood; thefresh air will do you good. Oh! Monsieur l'Abbe, if you only
knew whata regard I have for you, and respect, too. I did not talk too muchnonsense before you just now, did I? I should be so sorry--"

  "No, my child, I heard nothing."

  "Well, we will take the longest way round."

  After having turned to the left in the wood, Paul resumed hiscommunications.

  "I was saying, Monsieur l'Abbe," he went on, "that you are wrong totake things so seriously. Shall I tell you what I think? This is a veryfortunate affair."

  "Very fortunate?"

  "Yes, very fortunate. I would rather see the Scotts at Longuevalthan the Gallards. Did you not hear Monsieur de Larnac reproach theseAmericans with spending their money foolishly. It is never foolish tospend money. The folly lies in keeping it. Your poor for I am perfectlysure that it is your poor of whom you are thinking--your poor have madea good thing of it to-day. That is my opinion. The religion? Well,they will not go to mass, and that will be a grief to you, that is onlynatural; but they will send you money, plenty of money, and you willtake it, and you will be quite right in doing so. You will see thatyou will not say no. There will be gold raining over the whole place;a movement, a bustle, carriages with four horses, postilions, powderedfootmen, paper chases, hunting parties, balls, fireworks, and here inthis very spot I shall perhaps find Paris again before long. I shallsee once more the two riders, and the two little grooms of whom I wasspeaking just now. If you only knew how well those two sisters look onhorseback! One morning I went right round the Bois de Boulogne behindthem; I fancy I can see them still. They had high hats, and little blackveils drawn very tightly over their faces, and long riding-habits madein the princess form, with a single seam right down the back; anda woman must be awfully well made to wear a riding-habit like that,because you see, Monsieur l'Abbe, with a habit of that cut no deceptionis possible."

  For some moments the Cure had not been listening to Paul's discourse.They had entered a long, perfectly straight avenue, and at the end ofthis avenue the Cure saw a horseman galloping along.

  "Look," said the Cure to Paul, "your eyes are better than mine. Is notthat Jean?"

  "Yes, it is jean. I know his gray mare."

  Paul loved horses, and before looking at the rider looked at the horse.It was indeed Jean, who, when he saw in the distance the Cure and Paulde Lavardens, waved in the air his kepi adorned with two golden stripes.Jean was lieutenant in the regiment of artillery quartered at Souvigny.

  Some moments after he stopped by the little carriage, and, addressingthe Cure, said:

  "I have just been to your house, 'mon parrain'. Pauline told me that youhad gone to Souvigny about the sale. Well, who has bought the castle?"

  "An American, Mrs. Scott."

  "And Blanche-Couronne?"

  "The same, Mrs. Scott."

  "And La Rozeraie?"

  "Mrs. Scott again."

  "And the forest? Mrs. Scott again?"

  "You have said it," replied Paul, "and I know Mrs. Scott, and I canpromise you that there will be something going on at Longueval. I willintroduce you. Only it is distressing to Monsieur l'Abbe because she isan American--a Protestant."

  "Ah! that is true," said Jean, sympathizingly. "However, we will talkabout it to-morrow. I am going to dine with you, godfather; I havewarned Pauline of my visit; no time to stop to-day. I am on duty, andmust be in quarters at three o'clock."

  "Stables?" asked Paul.

  "Yes. Good-by, Paul. To-morrow, godfather."

  The lieutenant galloped away. Paul de Lavardens gave his little horseher head.

  "What a capital fellow Jean is!" said Paul.

  "Oh, yes, indeed!"

  "There is no one on earth better than Jean."

  "No, no one."

  The Cure turned round to take another look at Jean, who was almost lostin the depths of the forest.

  "Oh, yes, there is you, Monsieur le Cure."

  "No, not me! not me!"

  "Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, shall I tell you what I think? I think there isno one better than you two--you and Jean. That is the truth, if I musttell you. Oh! what a splendid place for a trot! I shall let Niniche go;I call her Niniche."

  With the point of his whip Paul caressed the flank of Niniche, whostarted off at full speed, and Paul, delighted, cried:

  "Just look at her action, Monsieur l'Abbe! just look at her action! Soregular--just like clockwork. Lean over and look."

  To please Paul de Lavardens the Abbe Constantin did lean over and lookat Niniche's action, but the old priest's thoughts were far away.