“Ah, poor grandmamma, what grand-dam’s tales
  You used to sing to me in praise of virtue;
  Everywhere have I asked:  ‘What is this stranger?’
  They laughed at me and said, ‘Whence hast thou come?’”

  G. MELOTTE (Les Temps nouveaux).

The Cure of Althausen had no need of reflection to understand the kind of shameful bargain which his servant had allowed him to catch a glimpse of.

The lustful look of the woman had spoken too clearly, and when he had taken her hand, he had felt it burn and tremble in his.

Then certain circumstances, certain facts to which he had not attended at first, came back to his memory.

Two or three times, Veronica, on frivolous pretexts had entered his bedroom at night; and each time, he remembered well, she was in somewhat indecent undress, which contrasted strangely with her ordinarily severe appearance.

He recalled to himself all the stories of Cures’ servants who shared their masters’ bed.  Stories told in a whisper at certain general repasts, when the priests of the district met together at the senior’s house to observe the feast of some saint or other—­the great Saint Priapus perhaps—­and where lively talk and sprightly stories ran merrily round the table.

And what he had taken for jokes in bad taste, and refused to believe till now, he began to understand.

For he could no longer doubt that he had set his servant’s passions aflame, and he must either expose himself to her venomous tongue and incur the shame and scandal, or else appease the erotic rage of this kitchen Messalina.

He tried to drive away this horrible thought, to believe that he had been mistaken, to persuade himself that he was the dope of erroneous appearances; he wished to convince himself that he had been the victim of errors engendered by his own depravity, that he judged according to his secret sentiments; his efforts were vain; the woman’s feverish eyes, her restless solicitude, her jealous rage, her incessant watching, the evidence in short was there which contradicted all his hopes to the contrary.

And then, the latest confessions regarding his predecessors:  “All have acted like you, all,” possessed his mind.  Like him!  What had they done?  They also had attempted then to seduce young girls, and perhaps had consummated their infernal design.  What? respectable priests, ministers of the Gospel, pastors of God’s flock!  Was it possible?  But was not he a respectable priest and respected by all, a minister of God, a leader of the holy flock, a pastor of men, and yet....

How then? where is virtue?

“Virtue,” answered that voice which we have within ourselves, that voice odious to hypocrites and deceivers, which the Church calls the Devil’s voice, and which is the voice of reason.  Virtue?  Of which do you speak, fool?  Without counting the three theological, there are fifty thousand kinds of virtues.  It is like happiness, institutions, reputations, religions, morals, principles:  Truth on this side the mount, error on that.