“Consider yourself at home now.”

Joseph Mouradour answered: 

“Thanks, my friend; I expected as much.  Anyhow, I never stand on ceremony with my friends.  That’s how I understand hospitality.”

Then he went upstairs to dress as a farmer, he said, and he came back all togged out in blue linen, with a little straw hat and yellow shoes, a regular Parisian dressed for an outing.  He also seemed to become more vulgar, more jovial, more familiar; having put on with his country clothes a free and easy manner which he judged suitable to the surroundings.  His new manners shocked Monsieur and Madame de Meroul a little, for they always remained serious and dignified, even in the country, as though compelled by the two letters preceding their name to keep up a certain formality even in the closest intimacy.

After lunch they all went out to visit the farms, and the Parisian astounded the respectful peasants by his tone of comradeship.

In the evening the priest came to dinner, an old, fat priest, accustomed to dining there on Sundays, but who had been especially invited this day in honor of the new guest.

Joseph, on seeing him, made a wry face.  Then he observed him with surprise, as though he were a creature of some peculiar race, which he had never been able to observe at close quarters.  During the meal he told some rather free stories, allowable in the intimacy of the family, but which seemed to the Merouls a little out of place in the presence of a minister of the Church.  He did not say, “Monsieur l’abbe,” but simply, “Monsieur.”  He embarrassed the priest greatly by philosophical discussions about diverse superstitions current all over the world.  He said:  “Your God, monsieur, is of those who should be respected, but also one of those who should be discussed.  Mine is called Reason; he has always been the enemy of yours.”

The Merouls, distressed, tried to turn the trend of the conversation.  The priest left very early.

Then the husband said, very quietly: 

“Perhaps you went a little bit too far with the priest.”

But Joseph immediately exclaimed: 

“Well, that’s pretty good!  As if I would be on my guard with a shaveling!  And say, do me the pleasure of not imposing him on me any more at meals.  You can both make use of him as much as you wish, but don’t serve him up to your friends, hang it!”

“But, my friends, think of his holy—­”

Joseph Mouradour interrupted him: 

“Yes, I know; they have to be treated like ‘rosieres.’  But let them respect my convictions, and I will respect theirs!”

That was all for that day.

As soon as Madame de Meroul entered the parlor, the next morning, she noticed in the middle of the table three newspapers which made her start the Voltaire, the Republique-Francaise and the Justice.  Immediately Joseph Mouradour, still in blue, appeared on the threshold, attentively reading the Intransigeant.  He cried: