there! that will do,' said he. 'I have let the rooms; don't let us say anything more about the matter.'
Then, in the bantering tones of a bourgeois who thinks he has done a good stroke of business, he added:
'At any rate one thing is certain, and that is that I am to get a hundred and fifty francs rent; and we shall have those additional hundred and fifty francs to spend on the house every year.'
Marthe bent her head and made no further protestations except by vaguely swinging her hands and gently closing her eyes as though to prevent the escape of the tears which were already swelling beneath her eyelids. Then she cast a furtive glance at her children, who had not appeared to hear anything of her discussion with their father. They were, indeed, accustomed to scenes of this sort in which Mouret, with his bantering nature, delighted to indulge.
'You can come in now, if you would like something to eat,' said Rose in her crabby voice, as she came to the steps.
'Ah, that's right! Come along, children, to your soup!' cried Mouret gaily, without appearing to retain any trace of temper.
The whole family rose. But Désirée's grief seemed to revive at the sight of everyone stirring. She threw her arms round her father's neck and stammered:
'Oh, papa, one of my birds has flown away!'
'One of your birds, my dear? Well, we'll catch it again.'
Then he began to caress and fondle her, but she insisted that he, also, should go and look at the cage. When he brought her back again Marthe and her two sons were already in the dining-room. The rays of the setting sun, streaming in through the window, lighted up the porcelain plates, the children's plated mugs, and the white cloth. The room was warm and peaceful with its green background of garden.
But just as Marthe, upon whom the tranquillity of the scene had had a soothing effect, was smilingly removing the cover from the soup-tureen, a noise was heard in the passage.
Then Rose rushed into the room with a scared look and stammered:
'Monsieur l'Abbé Faujas has come!'
II
An expression of annoyance passed over Mouret's face. He had not expected his tenant till the following morning at the earliest. He was just rising hastily from his seat when Abbé Faujas himself appeared at the door. He was a tall big man, with a square face, broad features, and a cadaverous complexion. Behind him, in the shadow, stood an elderly woman, who bore an astonishing resemblance to him, only that she was of smaller build and wore a less refined expression. When they saw the table laid for a meal, they both hesitated and stepped back discreetly, though without going away. The priest's tall black figure contrasted mournfully with the cheerfulness of the whitewashed walls.
'We must ask your pardon for disturbing you,' he said to Mouret. 'We have just left Abbé Bourrette's; he, no doubt, gave you notice of our coming!'
'Not at all!' Mouret exclaimed. 'The Abbé never behaves like other people. He always seems as though he had just come down from paradise. Only this morning, sir, he told me that you would not be here for another couple of days. Well, we must put you in possession of your rooms all the same.'
Abbé Faujas apologised. He spoke in a deep voice which fell very softly at the end of each sentence. He was extremely distressed, said he, to have arrived at such a moment. And when he had expressed his regret in a very few well-chosen words, he turned round to pay the porter who had brought his trunk. His large well-shaped hands drew from the folds of his cassock a purse of which only the steel rings could be seen. Keeping his head bent, he cautiously fumbled in it for a moment. Then, without anyone having seen the piece of money which he had received, the porter went away, and the priest resumed in his refined way:
'I beg you, sir, sit down again. Your servant will show us the rooms, and will help me to carry this.'
As he spoke, he stooped to grasp one of the handles of his trunk. It was a small wooden trunk, bound at the edges with iron bands, and one of its sides seemed to have been repaired with a cross-piece of deal. Mouret looked surprised, and his eyes wandered off in search of other luggage, but he could see nothing excepting a big basket, which the elderly lady carried with both hands, holding it in front of her, and despite her fatigue obstinately determined not to put it down. From underneath the lid, which was a little raised, there peeped, amongst some bundles of linen, the end of a comb wrapped in paper and the neck of a clumsily corked bottle.
'Oh! don't trouble yourself with that,' said Mouret, just touching the trunk with his foot; 'it can't be very heavy, and Rose will be able to carry it up by herself.'
He was quite unconscious of the secret contempt which oozed out from his words. The elderly lady gave him a keen glance with her black eyes, and then let her gaze again fall upon the dining-room and the table, which she had been examining ever since her arrival. She kept her lips tightly compressed, while her eyes strayed from one object to another. She had not uttered a single word. Abbé Faujas consented to leave his trunk where it was. In the yellow rays of the sunlight which streamed in from the garden, his threadbare cassock looked quite ruddy; it was darned at the edges; and, though it was scrupulously clean, it seemed so sadly thin and wretched that Marthe, who had hitherto remained seated with a sort of uneasy reserve, now in her turn rose from her seat. The Abbé, who had merely cast a rapid glance at her, and had then quickly turned his eyes elsewhere, saw her leave her chair, although he did not appear to be watching her.
'I beg you,' he repeated, 'do not disturb yourselves. We should be extremely distressed to interfere with your dinner.'
'Very well,' said Mouret, who was hungry, 'Rose shall show you up. Tell her to get you anything you want, and make yourselves at home.'
Abbé Faujas bowed and was making his way to the staircase, when Marthe stepped up to her husband and whispered:
'But, my dear, you have forgotten——'
'What? what?' he asked, seeing her hesitate.
'There is the fruit, you know.'
'Oh! bother it all, so there is!' he exclaimed with an expression of annoyance.
And as Abbé Faujas stepped back and glanced at him questioningly, he added:
'I am extremely vexed, sir. Father Bourrette is a very worthy man, but it is a little unfortunate that you commissioned him to attend to your business. He hasn't got the least bit of a head. If we had only known of your coming, we should have had everything ready; but, as it is, we shall have to clear the whole place out for you. We have been using the rooms, you see; we have stowed all our crop of fruit, figs, apples and raisins, away on the floors upstairs.'
The priest listened with a surprise which all his politeness did not enable him to hide.
'But it won't take us long,' Mouret continued. 'If you don't mind waiting for ten minutes, Rose will get the rooms cleared for you.'
An anxious expression appeared on the priest's cadaverous face.
'The rooms are furnished, are they not?' he asked.
'Not
