'Ah! you have let the rooms, then? Oh, yes! I remember now; to a priest, isn't it? I've heard it spoken of. What sort of a person is he, this priest of yours?'
Mouret looked at her keenly. A sudden suspicion flashed through his mind, and he began to guess that it was entirely on account of Abbé Faujas that his mother-in-law had favoured them with this visit.
'Upon my word,' he replied, without taking his eyes off her, 'I really know nothing about him. But perhaps you are able to give me some information concerning him yourself?'
'I!' she cried, with an appearance of great surprise. 'Why, I've never even seen him! Stay, though, I know he is one of the curates at Saint-Saturnin; Father Bourrette told me that. By the way, that reminds me that I ought to ask him to my Thursdays. The director of the seminary and the bishop's secretary are already amongst my circle of visitors.'
And, turning to Marthe, she added:
'When you see your lodger you might sound him, so as to be able to tell me whether an invitation from me would be acceptable.'
'We scarcely ever see him,' Mouret hastily interposed. 'He comes in and goes out without ever opening his mouth. And, besides, it is really no business of ours.'
He still kept his eyes fixed suspiciously upon her. He felt quite sure that she knew much more about Abbé Faujas than she was willing to admit. However, she did not once flinch beneath his searching gaze.
'Very well, it's all the same to me,' she said, with an appearance of unconcern. 'I shall be able to find out some other way of inviting him, if he's the right sort of person, I've no doubt. Good-bye, my children.'
As she was mounting the steps again, a tall old man appeared on the hall threshold. He was dressed very neatly in blue cloth, and had a fur cap pressed over his eyes. In his hand he carried a whip.