Then they sat down on a mound that formed a sort of seat.

The Abbe Plomb, in a mood for teasing, gave his spectacles a push, settling the arch above his nose, and rubbing his hands, remarked, very seriously,—­

“Madame Bavoil, flowers and vegetables are but of trivial importance from the decorative and culinary point of view; the only rule that should guide you in your selection is the symbolical meaning, the virtues and vices ascribed to plants.  Now, I am sorry to observe that your favourites are for the most part of evil augury.”

“I do not understand you, Monsieur l’Abbe.”

“Why, you have only to consider that these vegetables which you take such care of mean many evil things.  Lentils, for instance—­you grow lentils?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the seeds of the lentils are very cunning and mysterious.  Artemidorus, in his ‘Interpretation of Dreams,’ tells us that if we dream of them it is a sign of mourning; it is the same with lettuce and onion:  they forecast misfortune.  Peas are less ill-famed; but, above all, beware of coriander, with its leaves smelling like bugs, for it gives rise to all manner of evils.

“Thyme, on the contrary, according to Macer Floridus, cures snake-bites, fennel is a stimulant wholesome for women, and garlic taken fasting is a preservative against the ills we may contract from drinking strange waters, or changing from place to place.  So plant whole fields of garlic, Madame Bavoil.”

“The Father does not like it!”

“And then,” the Abbe Plomb added, very seriously, “you must fill your mind from the books of Albertus Magnus, the Master of Saint Thomas Aquinas, who in the treatises ascribed to him on the Virtues of Herbs, the Wonders of the World, and the Secrets of Women, puts forth certain ideas, which, as I may hope, will not have been written in vain.

“He tells us that the plantain-root is a cure for headache and for ulcers; that mistletoe grown on an oak opens all locks; that celandine laid on a sick man’s head sings if he will die; that the juice of the house-leek will enable you to hold a hot iron without being burnt; that leaves of myrtle twisted into a ring will reduce an abscess; that lily powdered and eaten by a young maiden is an effectual test of her virginity, for if she should not be innocent it takes instantaneous effect as a diuretic!”

“I did not know of that property in the lily,” said Durtal, laughing, “but I knew that Albertus Magnus assigned the same peculiarity to the mallow; only the patient need not swallow the plant; she has only to stoop over it.”

“What nonsense!” exclaimed the old priest.

His housekeeper, quite scared, stood looking at the ground.

“Do not listen to him, Madame Bavoil,” cried Durtal.  “I have a less medical, and more religious, idea:  cultivate a liturgical garden and emblematic vegetables; make a kitchen and flower garden that may set forth the glory of God and carry up our prayers in their language; and, in short, imitate the purpose of the Song of the Three Holy Children in the fiery furnace, when they called on all Nature, from the breath of the storm to the seed buried in the field, to Bless the Lord!”