The murmur receiving his outburst was not flattering to him.
“Excuse me,” said the unctuous mayor, “but we only wanted to know whether you would serve the mass on the altar of the country, or not?”
“Sanction revolt, rebellion and ingratitude,” yelled the holy man in one of the fits of passion habitual to him: “curse virtue and bless sin? you cannot have hoped it, mayor. I will not say your sacrilegous mass!”
“Very well; this is a free country now—you need not unless you like.”
“Free? ha, ha, ha!” and with a most exasperating laugh he was going to slam the door in their faces when a man burst through the throng, pushed the door nearly open again and all but overturned Fortier though he was a stout man.
It was Billet.
There was profound silence as all divined that not two mere men, but two forces were opposing each other.
Though Billet had displayed so much strength to open the door, he spoke in a calm voice:
“Pardon me, mayor, but I think I heard you say that the father might say the mass or not, at his pleasure? this is an error and it is no longer the time when errors are allowed to flourish. Every man who is paid to do work is bound to do it. You are paid by the country to say mass and you shall say it.”
“Blasphemer, Manichean,” roared the priest.