“I am very grateful to you, Madame; you are very good, Mademoiselle—­”

But after all he could not thank them enough, and Jean thought it necessary to come to his assistance.

“They have given you two thousand francs!”

And then, full of warmest gratitude; the Cure cried: 

“Two thousand francs!  Two thousand francs for my poor!”

Pauline suddenly reappeared.

“Here, Pauline,” said the Cure, “put away this money, and take care—­”

Old Pauline filled many positions in this simple household:  cook, maid-of-all-work, treasurer, dispenser.  Her hands received with a respectful tremble these two little ‘rouleaux’ which represented so much misery alleviated, so much suffering relieved.

“One thousand francs a month!  But there will be no poor left in the country.”

“That is just what I wish.  I am rich, very rich, and so is my sister; she is even richer than I am, because a young girl has not so many expenses, while I—­Ah! well, I spend all that I can—­all that I can.  When one has a great deal of money, too much, more than one feels to be just, tell me, Monsieur le Cure, is there any other way of obtaining pardon than to keep one’s hands open, and give, give, give, all one can, and as usefully as one can?  Besides, you can give me something in return;” and, turning to Pauline, “Will you be so kind as to give me a glass of water?  No, nothing else; a glass of cold water; I am dying of thirst.”

“And I,” said Bettina, laughing, while Pauline ran to fetch the water, “I am dying of something else-of hunger, to tell the truth.  Monsieur le Cure—­I know that I am going to be dreadfully intrusive; I see your cloth is laid—­could you not invite us to dinner?”

“Bettina!” said Mrs. Scott.

“Let me alone, Susie, let me alone.  Won’t you, Monsieur le Cure?  I am sure you will.”

But he could find no reply.  The old Cure hardly knew where he was.  They had taken his vicarage by storm; they were Catholics; they had promised him one thousand francs a month, and now they wanted to dine with him.  Ah! that was the last stroke.  Terror seized him at the thought of having to do the honors of his leg of mutton and his custard to these two absurdly rich Americans.  He murmured: 

“Dine!-you would like to dine here?”

Jean thought he must interpose again.  “It would be a great pleasure to my godfather,” said he, “if you would kindly stay.  But I know what disturbs him.  We were going to dine together, just the two of us, and you must not expect a feast.  You will be very indulgent?”

“Yes, yes, very indulgent,” replied Bettina; then, addressing her sister, “Come, Susie, you must not be cross, because I have been a little—­you know it is my way to be a little—­Let us stay, will you?  It will do us good to pass a quiet hour here, after such a day as we have had!  On the railway, in the carriage, in the heat, in the dust; we had such a horrid luncheon, in such a horrid hotel.  We were to have returned to the same hotel at seven o’clock to dine, and then take the train back to Paris, but dinner here will be really much nicer.  You won’t say no?  Ah! how good you are, Susie!”