“About 40,000 inhabitants, I believe, Monseigneur. It is a manufacturing town.”
“I know! I know! M. Duclou used to tell me in Rome that he could only find one fault with his flock: they drank beer. He used to say that if they would only drink the light wines of Orleans they would be the most perfect Christians in the world, but hops made them melancholy.”
“M. Duclou was a very witty man.”
“He disliked beer, and once I surprised him very much by telling him that it was quite popular in Italy nowadays. There are very prosperous German beer-houses in Florence, Rome, Naples, and most of the other towns. Do you like beer, M. Guitrel?”
“I do not dislike it, Monseigneur.”
The Nuncio gave his ring to the priest, who kissed it and took a respectful leave.
The Nuncio rang the bell.
“Show M. Lantaigne in.”
Having kissed the ring, the director of the Grand Séminaire was invited to sit down and state his business.
He said: