—­Really? said Marcel indifferently.

—­Just think.  The day before yesterday a letter reached me from the Palace.  It was Monseigneur’s secretary, little Gaudinet, who wrote to me.  You know Gaudinet?

—­No, uncle.

He is not a bad fellow, but a devil to intrigue.  Well, as he knows the interest I take in you, and as he wants to creep up my sleeve, because he hopes soon to take the place of one of my curates, he wrote to me that Monseigneur had spoken of you with interest, and that he proposed to put an end to your exile.  I recognize there the Comtesse de Montluisant’s good offices.  You see that she has lost no time, and so we will do the same; we most strike the iron while it is hot; you are going to get your bag and baggage, and take yourself off to Nancy.

—­Already?

—­Why already?  Have you any business here which detains you then?

—­Nothing ... absolutely nothing; but what shall I do at Nancy?

—­That is just why I have come, you impatient young man, to point out to you what line of conduct to follow, and, as I know, you are rather more scrupulous than there is any need for in our profession, to assist you in removing certain scruples which might stand in the way of your promotion.

—­Heavens!  What scruples?

—­We will talk about them at table.  Meanwhile, this is the question.  I have told you that I will move heaven and earth for you; you, however, must help me a little on your side, for whatever I may do, I can effect nothing without you.  In his letter, Gaudinet informs me that the parish of St. Mary, Nancy, is deprived of its pastor.  It came into my head directly that you must take the place of the defunct.  It is an excellent parish, very prominent, splendid surplice fees, devout ladies, sisters, elderly spinsters to plunge into saintly jubilation, a host of Capuchins, everything indeed which constitutes a blessing from heaven for a poor priest.  You are young, you are handsome, you are intelligent, you are energetic; while you are waiting for something better, I promise you an existence there, of which the most ambitions of village Cures has never dared to dream.  But we most hasten, time presses; Gaudinet tells me that there are already at least a dozen candidates in earnest; and although old Collard’s intentions (and he intends to atone for his former injustice) regarding you are favourable, you are well aware that he allows himself to be led by the nose, and generally the last one who talks to him is right.  You must be then both the first and the last, and you must not let him slip; not you, but your second, your aide-de-camp, your fideicommissum, or rather your protectress, the Comtesse de Montluisant.

—­But I do not know this lady.