"I will not promise as much in return, abbe, for here I think you have made a mistake."
"Monseigneur, I know what I said, and I repeat it."
"But look! no noise, no light, perfect quiet, your account is incorrect; it is evident that we are late."
"Yesterday, monseigneur, where you stand, there was an orchestra of fifty musicians; there, where that young sister kneels so devoutly, was a buffet: what was upon it I cannot tell, but I know it was there, and in the gallery on the left, where a modest supper of lentils and cream cheese is now preparing for the holy sisters, were two hundred people, drinking, dancing, and making—"
"Well, making what?"
"Making love, monseigneur."
"Diable! are you sure of this?"
"Rather more sure than if I had seen it, and that is why you do well in coming to-day, and would have done better in coming yesterday. This sort of life does not become an abbess, monseigneur."
"No, it is only fit for an abbe. Ha!"
"I am a politician, monseigneur."