However, the Abbé Girard was of the number of those who had least cause for fear, as he had sworn to abide by the Constitution,—in him conscience and probity had spoken louder than either self-love or religious spirit. No doubt the Abbé Girard admitted the possibility of improvement in the government, and much regretted the abuses committed under the name of the Divine will, and had, while retaining his God, accepted the fraternity of the Republican régime.
"Go and see, Dame Jacinthe," said he, "who disturbs us at this early hour; and if the business is of no very pressing nature, say that this morning I have been sent for to the Conciergerie, and must go there directly."
Dame Jacinthe, formerly called Madeleine, had accepted this flowery appellation in lieu of her own, as the Abbé Girard had taken the title of citizen instead of that of curé. At the suggestion of her master, Jacinthe hastened down the steps of the little garden leading to the entrance gate. She drew back the bolts, when a thin, pale young man, much agitated, but with a frank and amiable expression, presented himself before her.
"Monsieur l'Abbé Girard?" said he.
Jacinthe, not slow to remark the disordered dress, the neglected beard, and the nervous tremor of the new-comer, augured unfavorably of him.
"Citizen," said she; "there is here neither 'Monsieur' nor 'abbé.'"
"Pardon me, Madame," replied the young man; "I meant to say the Curé of Saint Landry."
Jacinthe, notwithstanding her patriotism, was struck by the title "Madame," with which the Republicans would not have honored an empress. She, however, replied,—
"You cannot see him now; he is repeating his breviary."