'It is surprising what splendid pears Monsieur Rastoil has got this year,' he remarked.
Marthe, who had appeared a little uneasy for the last few minutes, seemed as though she wanted to say something. At last she made up her mind to speak, and timidly inquired:
'Were you expecting someone to-day, my dear?'
'Yes and no,' he replied, beginning to pace the terrace again.
'Perhaps you have let the second floor?'
'Yes, indeed, I have let it.'
Then, as the silence became a little embarrassing, he added, in his quiet way:
'This morning, before starting for Les Tulettes, I went up to see Abbé Bourrette. He was very pressing, and so I agreed to his proposal. I know it won't please you; but, if you will only think the matter over for a little, you will see that you are wrong, my dear. The second floor was of no use to us, and it was only going to ruin. The fruit that we store in the rooms there brings on dampness which makes the paper fall from the walls. By the way, now that I think of it, don't forget to remove the fruit the first thing to-morrow. Our tenant may arrive at any moment.'
'We were so free and comfortable, all alone in our own house,' Marthe ventured to say, in a low tone.
'Oh, well!' replied Mouret, 'we shan't find a priest in our way. He will keep to himself, and we shall keep to ourselves. Those black-gowned gentlemen hide themselves when they want to swallow even a glass of water. You know that I'm not very partial to them myself. A set of lazybones for the most part! And yet what chiefly decided me to let the floor was that I had found a priest for a tenant. One is quite sure of one's money with them, and they are so quiet that one can't even hear them go in and out.'