'Ah! is it you, dear Madame Paloque?' the Curé continued; 'do you want to speak to me?'
By a supreme effort of will, the judge's wife forced her face into a smile. She answered the priest in a tone that was terrible in its amiability and mingled irony.
'Ah! you were inside were you, your reverence? If I had known that, I would not have insisted upon entering. But I want to see the altar-cloth, which must, I think, be getting into a bad condition. I am a careful superintendent here, you know, and I keep an eye upon all these little details. But, of course, if you are engaged in the oratory, I wouldn't think of disturbing you. Pray go on with what you are doing; the house is yours. If madame had only just dropped me a word, I would have left her quietly to continue guarding you from being disturbed.'
Madame Faujas allowed a growl to escape her, but a glance from her son reduced her to silence.
'Come in, I beg you,' he said; 'you won't disturb me in the least. I was confessing Madame Mouret, who is not very well. Come in, by all means. The altar-cloth might very well be changed, I think.'
'Oh, no! I will come some other time,' Madame Paloque replied. 'I am quite distressed to have interrupted you. Pray go on, your reverence, pray go on!'
Notwithstanding her protestations, however, she entered the room. While she was examining the altar-cloth with Marthe, the priest began to chide his mother in a low voice:
'Why did you prevent her coming in, mother? I never told you to allow no one to enter.'
She gazed straight in front of her with her obstinate determined glance. 'She would have had to walk over my body before she got inside,' she muttered.
'But why?'