The world-Jean had scarcely encountered it.  He had allowed himself to be dragged by Paul, a dozen times, perhaps, to soirees or balls at the great houses of the neighborhood.  He had invariably returned thoroughly bored, and had concluded that these pleasures were not made for him.  His tastes were simple, serious.  He loved solitude, work, long walks, open space, horses, and books.  He was rather savage—­a son of the soil.  He loved his village, and all the old friends of his childhood.  A quadrille in a drawing-room caused him unspeakable terror; but every year, at the festival of the patron saint of Longueval, he danced gayly with the young girls and farmers’ daughters of the neighborhood.

If he had seen Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival at home in Paris, in all the splendor of their luxury, in all the perfection of their costly surroundings, he would have looked at them from afar, with curiosity, as exquisite works of art.  Then he would have returned home, and would have slept, as usual, the most peaceful slumber in the world.

Yes, but it was not thus that the thing had come to pass, and hence his excitement, hence his disturbance.  These two women had shown themselves before him in the midst of a circle with which he was familiar, and which had been, if only for this reason, singularly favorable to them.  Simple, good, frank, cordial, such they had shown themselves the very first day, and delightfully pretty into the bargain—­a fact which is never insignificant.  Jean fell at once under the charm; he was there still!

At the moment when he dismounted in the barrack-yard, at nine o’clock, the old priest began his campaign joyously.  Since the previous evening the Abbe’s head had been on fire; Jean had not slept much, but he had not slept at all.  He had risen very early, and with closed doors, alone with Pauline, he had counted and recounted his money, spreading out his one hundred Louis-d’or, gloating over them like a miser, and like a miser finding exquisite pleasure in handling his hoard.  All that was his! for him! that is to say, for the poor.

“Do not be too lavish, Monsieur le Cure,” said Pauline; “be economical.  I think that if you distribute to-day one hundred francs—­”

“That is not enough, Pauline.  I shall only have one such day in my life, but one I will have.  How much do you think I shall give to-day?”

“How much, Monsieur le Cure?”

“One thousand francs!”

“One thousand francs!”

“Yes.  We are millionaires now; we possess all the treasures of America, and you talk about economy?  Not to-day, at all events; indeed, I have no right to think of it.”

After saying mass at nine o’clock he set out and showered gold along his way.  All had a share—­the poor who acknowledged their poverty and those who concealed it.  Each alms was accompanied by the same little discourse: 

“This comes from the new owners of the Longueval—­two American ladies, Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival.  Remember their names, and pray for them.”