"Well—that is, Monsieur le Curé, you will be a little vexed, I fear—perhaps—but the partridge—"
"Will you speak, Jeannette?"
"There—Monsieur le Curé—there was nothing in the house for supper, Monsieur le Curé—and—and so I—"
"Wretch! have you killed it?"
And the priest sprang from his seat, pale with anger, and advanced towards the terrified housekeeper, who fell upon her knees, and clasped her hands in a speechless appeal for mercy.
Even the dog ran trembling under the table, and uttered a low deprecatory howl.
Recalled to himself by the panic of his household, André Bernard threw himself back into his chair, and covered his face with his hands. Could one have removed those fingers, they would have seen large tears upon his sunken cheeks.
At this moment the door was opened quickly, and a man entered the room. The priest rose precipitately from his chair, for in the intruder he saw no less a person than the Baron de Pradines.
"Excuse my intrusion, Monsieur le Curé," said the gentleman, whose features wore an expression of peculiar anxiety. "I wish to speak with you in private." And he glanced towards the still-kneeling Jeannette. "You see I have not yet returned to my regiment. I have, for the present, changed my plans. Pray who is this woman?"
"She is my housekeeper, Monsieur le Baron: she—she was in prayer when you entered," said André Bernard, telling another falsehood to account for the strange position of Jeannette.