"Indeed I should advise it, Monsieur le Curé; and above all do not come back, as you did yesterday, wet to the skin, and bringing what, forsooth?—nothing but a miserable partridge!"
"Ah! but I do not mean to make a supper of that partridge, my good Jeannette: I mean to keep it."
"To keep it—holy Virgin! Keep a partridge! A live partridge! Why, Monsieur, it would devour our corn, and cost as much as twenty canaries. If you do these things, Monsieur, instead of giving alms you will have to beg."
"Be calm, Jeannette, my good Jeannette; we shall never be ruined by a partridge. Besides, it is a rare bird. Bring it here to me."
"Rare, Monsieur le Curé! I have seen them over and over again after a severe winter."
"Well, Jeannette, for my sake take care of this poor little bird, for I value it greatly. Bring it here; I wish to feed it myself."
The good housekeeper looked uneasily at her master through her great spectacles, and began glancing from right to left in evident tribulation. She did not offer, however, to rise from her seat.
"Are you dreaming, Jeannette?" said the priest, with much surprise; "did you hear me?"
"Oh, yes, Monsieur le Curé. The—the partridge...."
"Well?"