'Ah! you've got all put right now, have you, madame?' Marthe asked with a smile.
'Oh, yes! it was a mere trifle and was done directly,' Madame Faujas replied.
She went down the steps that led to the terrace, and called in a gentler tone:
'Ovide, my child, will you come upstairs now? Everything is quite ready.'
She was obliged to go and lay her hand upon her son's shoulder to awaken him from his reverie. The air was growing cool, and the Abbé shivered as he got up and followed his mother in silence. As he passed before the door of the dining-room which was all bright with the cheerful glow of the lamp and merry with the chatter of the young folks, he peeped in and said in his flexible voice:
'Let me thank you again, and beg you to excuse us for having so disturbed you. We are very sorry——'
'No! no!' cried Mouret, 'it is we who are sorry and distressed at not being able to offer you better accommodation for the night.'
The priest bowed, and Marthe again met that clear gaze of his, that eagle glance which had affected her before. In the depths of his eyes, which were generally of a melancholy grey, flames seemed to gleam at times like lamps carried behind the windows of slumbering houses.
'The priest's not at all shamefaced,' Mouret remarked jestingly, when the mother and son had retired.