The old chaplain, by a crafty wile, brought the conversation back to the subject which interested him.
“Ah! madame, your excellent father, Colonel de Balny, would have certainly appreciated the character of M. Lantaigne, and he would have offered up prayers that this priest might be raised to a bishopric.”
“I also, monsieur l’abbé, will offer up prayers for that,” answered the general’s wife. “My husband cannot, ought not to make any application. But if you think that my intervention will be useful, I will drop a word to Monseigneur. He doesn’t terrify me at all, our Archbishop.”
“Doubtless a word from your mouth …” murmured the old man. “… The ear of Monseigneur Chariot will be open to it.”
The general’s wife announced that she would be seeing the Archbishop at the inauguration of the Pain de Saint Antoine, of which she was president, and that there …
She interrupted herself:
“The cutlets! … Excuse me, monsieur l’abbé …”
She rushed out on to the landing and shouted orders to the cook from the staircase. Then she reappeared in the room.
“And there I shall draw him aside, and beg him to speak to the nuncio in favour of M. Lantaigne. Is that the right way to go to work?”
The old chaplain made as if to take her hands, yet without actually doing so.