He emphasized this word “former” in such a manner that it was impossible to doubt his sentiments and his opinions.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, “you will not find here the comforts to which you are accustomed, and I fear——”
“Nonsense!” interrupted the duke. “An old soldier is not fastidious, and what suffices for you, Monsieur Abbe, will suffice for us. And rest assured that we shall amply repay you in one way or another for any inconvenience we may cause you.”
The priest’s eye flashed. This want of tact, this disagreeable familiarity, this last insulting remark, kindled the anger of the man concealed beneath the priest.
“Besides,” added Martial, gayly, “we have been vastly amused by Bibiaine’s anxieties, we already know that there is a chicken in the coop——”
“That is to say there was one, Monsieur le Marquis.”
The old housekeeper, who suddenly reappeared, explained her master’s response. She seemed overwhelmed with despair.
“Blessed Virgin! Monsieur, what shall I do?” she clamored. “The chicken has disappeared. Someone has certainly stolen it, for the coop is securely closed!”
“Do not accuse your neighbor hastily,” interrupted the cure; “no one has stolen it from us. Bertrande was here this morning to ask alms in the name of her sick daughter. I had no money, and I gave her this fowl that she might make a good bouillon for the sick girl.”
This explanation changed Bibiaine’s consternation to fury.