'Well, there is Abbé Fenil, but it's just the same as if he wasn't here, for he never goes out.'
'Abbé Fenil isn't up to much,' remarked the cook.
This seemed to annoy Macquart.
'Why do you say that? Not up to much, eh? He does a great deal of good here, and he's a very worthy sort of fellow. He's worth a whole heap of priests who make a lot of fuss.'
His irritation, however, promptly disappeared, and he began to laugh upon observing that Rose was looking at him in surprise.
'I was only joking, you know,' he said. 'You are quite right; he's like all the other priests, they are all a set of hypocrites. I know now who it was that you saw me with. I met our grocer's wife. She was wearing a black dress, and you must have mistaken that for a cassock.'
Rose made an omelet, and Macquart placed some cheese upon the table. They had not finished eating when Marthe sat up in bed with the astonished look of a person awaking in a strange place. When she had brushed aside her hair and recollected where she was, she sprang to the floor and said she must be off at once. Macquart appeared very much vexed at her awaking.
'It's quite impossible,' said he, 'for you to go back to Plassans to-night. You are shivering with fever, and you would fall ill on the road. Rest here, and we will see about it to-morrow. To begin with, there is no conveyance.'
'But you can drive me in your trap,' said Marthe.
'No, no; I can't.'