She was red and out of breath, and her large breasts rose and fell like the bellows of a forge, while her air of triumph said clearly to Marcel:  “Ah, ah, I have caught you here.”

—­Come, Monsieur le Cure, it is quite a quarter-of-an-hour that I have been looking for you.  I ought to have thought before where to find you.  Somebody is waiting for you.

—­Who!

But the servant avoided making any reply, as she took the lead towards home.  The Cure followed her hanging his head.

He reached the parsonage directly after her.

—­Who is waiting for me then? he said again.

—­It’s the postman, she replied with an air of frankness; he could not wait till to-morrow.  He had a letter for you ... for you only, she added, lingering over these words with a scornful smile.

Marcel blushed.

—­Another mystery, Veronica went on.  Ah, Jesus!  My God!  What a lot of mysteries there are here.  Really it’s worse than the Catechism.  Your letters for you only!  Isn’t that enough to humiliate me?  You have reason then to complain of my discretion that you tell the postman to hand your letters to yourself only.  Holy Virgin! it’s a pretty thing.  What can they think of me then at the Post-office?  They will surely say that I read your letters before you do.  Upon my word.  Your letters don’t matter to me.  Would they not say...?  Ah, Lord Jesus.  To make a poor servant suffer martyrdom in this way?

—­There you are with your recrimination again!

-Oh, Monsieur le Cure, I make no recriminations, I complain that is all:  I certainly have the right to complain; my other masters never acted in that way with me.

—­Your masters acted as they thought proper, and I also do as I wish.

—­I see very well, that you don’t ask advice from anyone....  And with the insolence of a servant who has got on a footing with her master, she added:  You have gone again to the part where Durand lives?  After what has happened, are you not afraid of compromising yourself?

—­Mind your own business, you silly woman, and leave me alone for once.  I consider you are very impudent in trying to scrutinize my actions.

—­My business!  Well, Monsieur le Cure, yours is mine just a bit, since I am your confidante.  As to being impudent, I shall never be so much as others I know.

—­Insolent woman.

—­Ah, you can insult me, Monsieur le Cure.  I let you do as you like with me.

—­Veronica, said Marcel, this life is unendurable.  I hate to be surrounded with incessant spying; what do you want to arrive at? tell me, what do you want to arrive at?

And the Cure approached her, his fists clenched, and with glaring eyes.

—­Take care of yourself, woman, for I am beginning to get tired.

—­I am so too:  I am tired, cried Veronica.

Marcel’s wrath passed all bounds.