Suzanne cast a look of reproach upon her father.

—­What! said Marcel, hurt, must not Mademoiselle follow her religion? work out her salvation?

—­Her salvation?  There is a word which always makes me laugh.  It reminds me of my Colonel’s wife who, when her husband gave orders for a review and parade for Sunday, said, “My dear, you want then to deprive the poor soldiers of the holy Mass, ought they not to work out their salvation?” A magnificent creature, sir, but too much inclined to the cassock.

Her husband, however, had nothing to complain of, for one fine morning he picked up the stars of his epaulets in some sacristy or other.  What have you come for, my child?

—­Nothing, papa.  I knew Monsieur le Cure was there and I came in.

—­I was having a little edifying conversation with Monsieur, and you have interrupted us, but we can talk of something else:  You hold the first rank now, gentlemen, continued the Captain, I must do you that justice; and as times go, it is better to be the son of a bishop than of a general.  I myself, if I had only had some high influential canon for my father, should have reached the highest offices.  Come, you seem to me to be a good fellow, and I want to give you a word of advice.  If papa is a bishop, make use of him, and don’t stagnate in this village, you will get no good there:  I tell you so on my word of honour!  I suppose that with you, promotion is as it is with us?

“The cup of humiliation is full,” said Marcel to himself.  Nevertheless, he answered, I don’t understand exactly what you mean by that.

—­I mean by that that promotion is a lottery from which they begin by withdrawing all the big numbers to distribute them to Monsieur Cretinard whose papa is a millionaire, to Monsieur Tartuffe whose papa is a Jesuit, or to a Marquis de Carabas whose mamma has the good graces of my Lord the Bishop, and they make the poor devils draw from the rest.  It is so in the army—­and with you?

—­Among the clergy, sir, promotion is generally given to merit.

—­I don’t believe it; for if it were so, you would be a bishop at least.  Don’t blush, it is the general report.

—­Captain....

—­No false modesty.  I hear your virtues praised everywhere.  There is a chorus of praises from every quarter.  My friend here was just declaring to me that all the women are wild about you.

—­Sir ... cried the Cure, blushing up to his ears, and not daring to raise his eyes to Suzanne, who sat in a corner, convulsively turning over the leaves of an album.

—­Don’t protest, we know that true merit is modest; besides, I was by way of asking myself, if I should not beg you to complete my daughter’s education.

—­You are making pleasant jokes, Captain, and I ask your pardon for not being able to rise to the level of these witticisms.  I see that my visit has been unseasonable.  It only remains for me to make my excuses and to say to Mademoiselle, how pained I am to have made her acquaintance under such unfavourable auspices, but I hope....