“I understand—you advise me to be conciliatory. Such sentiments are purely Jacobin. If His Majesty listens to the advice of such as you, all these sales of confiscated estates will be ratified. Zounds! our interests are the same. If the Revolution has deprived the nobility of their property, it has also impoverished the clergy.”
“The possessions of a priest are not of this world, Monsieur,” said the cure, coldly.
M. de Sairmeuse was about to make some impertinent response, when M. Lacheneur appeared, followed by his daughter.
The wretched man was ghastly pale, great drops of perspiration stood out upon his temples, his restless, haggard eyes revealed his distress of mind.
Marie-Anne was as pale as her father, but her attitude and the light that burned in her eyes told of invincible energy and determination.
“Ah, well! friend,” said the duke, “so we are the owner of Sairmeuse, it seems.”
This was said with such a careless insolence of manner that the cure blushed that they should thus treat, in his own house, a man whom he considered his equal.
He rose and offered the visitors chairs.
“Will you take a seat, dear Monsieur Lacheneur?” said he, with a politeness intended as a lesson for the duke; “and you, also, Mademoiselle, do me the honor——”
But the father and the daughter both refused the proffered civility with a motion of the head.