He looked so grave, so convinced, that I could not tell whether he was joking or not, and so I replied:  “Look here, Marchas, are you having a joke with me?” “I never joke on duty.”  “But where the devil do you expect me to find any women?” “Where you like; there must be two or three remaining in the neighborhood, so ferret them out and bring them here.”

I got up, for it was too hot in front of the fire, and Marchas went off: 

“Do you want an idea?” “Yes.”  “Go and see the priest.”  “The priest?  What for?” “Ask him to supper, and beg him to bring a woman with him.”  “The priest!  A woman!  Ha! ha! ha!”

But Marchas continued with extraordinary gravity:  “I am not laughing; go and find the priest and tell him how we are situated, and, as he must be horribly dull, he will come.  But tell him that we want one woman at least, a lady, of course, since we, are all men of the world.  He is sure to know his female parishioners on the tips of his fingers, and if there is one to suit us, and you manage it well, he will suggest her to you.”

“Come, come, Marchas, what are you thinking of?” “My dear Garens, you can do this quite well.  It will even be very funny.  We are well bred, by Jove! and we will put on our most distinguished manners and our grandest style.  Tell the abbe who we are, make him laugh, soften his heart, coax him and persuade him!” “No, it is impossible.”

He drew his chair close to mine, and as he knew my special weakness, the scamp continued:  “Just think what a swaggering thing it will be to do and how amusing to tell about; the whole army will talk about it, and it will give you a famous reputation.”

I hesitated, for the adventure rather tempted me, and he persisted:  “Come, my little Garens.  You are the head of this detachment, and you alone can go and call on the head of the church in this neighborhood.  I beg of you to go, and I promise you that after the war I will relate the whole affair in verse in the Revue de Deux Mondes.  You owe this much to your men, for you have made them march enough during the last month.”

I got up at last and asked:  “Where is the priest’s house?” “Take the second turning at the end of the street, you will see an avenue, and at the end of the avenue you will find the church.  The parsonage is beside it.”  As I went out, he called out:  “Tell him the bill of fare, to make him hungry!”

I discovered the ecclesiastic’s little house without any difficulty; it was by the side of a large, ugly brick church.  I knocked at the door with my fist, as there was neither bell nor knocker, and a loud voice from inside asked:  “Who is there?” To which I replied:  “A quartermaster of hussars.”

I heard the noise of bolts and of a key being turned, and found myself face to face with a tall priest with a large stomach, the chest of a prizefighter, formidable hands projecting from turned-up sleeves, a red face, and the look of a kind man.  I gave him a military salute and said:  “Good-day, Monsieur le Cure.”