—­Or bad priests!

—­Be silent.  The bad priests, that is to say the clumsy priests, which is all the same, are in your cassock; and the clumsy ones are those who allow themselves to be caught.  You have been caught, my son; and caught by whom? by your cook.  Ha!  Ha!

—­Are you not ashamed to listen to the tale-bearing and calumny of that horrible woman?

—­Horrible!  Be quiet, you are blind.  It is your conduct which is horrible.  To concoct such intrigues!

—­I concoct no intrigue.  And when that does occur; when my feelings of respect, of esteem, of friendship for a young person endowed with virtues and graces, change into a sweeter feeling:  at all events, if my position compels me to conceal my inclinations from the world, I shall have no need to blush for them when face to face with myself, that is to say:  with my dignity as a man.  While your allusions, your instigation to certain intimacies, which in order to be more closely hidden are only the more abominable and degrading, inspire me only with disgust.

—­Oh, Holy Spirit, enlighten him.  He is wandering, he is a triple fool.  When I suspected, when I discovered, when I saw that you were entering on a perilous path, I gave you yesterday the advice which a priest of my age has the right to give to one of yours, especially when he is, as I am, regardful of his future.

—­I am as regardful of it as you.

—­Cease your idle words.  Have you decided to go?

—­No, uncle, I am well off here, and I stay here.

—­Well off!  Mouldy in your vices and obscurity.  Wallowing, like Job, on your dung-heap.  Roll yourself in your filth:  for my part I know what course remains for me to take.

—­You will do what you think proper.

—­I am sure of it.  But you, instead of having the excellent cure which was destined for you, you shall have one lower still than this where you can wallow at your ease in your idleness, your nothingness and your vices, for, I swear to you by my blessed patron, that if I go away without you, you shall not remain here for forty-eight hours.  I will have you recalled by the Bishop.  You laugh.  You know me all the same; you know when I say yes it is yes.  A word is enough for Monseigneur, you know. Magister dixit.

Marcel knew the character of the old Cure well enough to know that he was capable of keeping his word.  Fearing to irritate him more by his obstinacy, he thought it better to appear to yield.

—­It is time for Mass, he said.  We will talk about that again.

—­Go, my son, and pray to the Holy Spirit.

LXXV.

DURING MASS.

  “I have my rights of love and portion of the sun;
  Let us together flee ...”

  A. DE VIGNY (La Prison).

It will easily be credited that Marcel’s thoughts had little in common with the Holy Eucharist.  He would have been a very ungrateful lover, if his whole soul had not flown towards Suzanne.  This was then his chief preoccupation, while he murmured the long Credo, partook of Christ, and recited his prayers.