'Well,' said he, 'I had quite made up my mind that you were going to spend the night in a confessional-box. Now that you have taken to going to church, you had better give me notice when the priests invite you, so that I can dine out.'
All through the dinner he indulged in witticisms of this kind, and Marthe was more distressed by them than if he had openly stormed at her. Two or three times she cast a glance at him as if beseeching him to leave her in peace. But her looks only appeared to stimulate his wit. Octave and Désirée laughed at it all, but Serge remained silent and mentally took his mother's side. During dessert Rose came into the room, looking quite scared, with the news that Monsieur Delangre had called and wished to see madame.
'Hallo! have you begun to associate with the authorities as well?' exclaimed Mouret in his sneering fashion.
Marthe went into the drawing-room to receive the mayor. With much politeness the latter told her that he had felt unwilling to wait until the morrow to congratulate her upon her charitable idea. Madame Delangre was a little timid; she had done wrong in not immediately promising her co-operation, and he had now come to say in her name that she would be delighted to serve on the committee of lady patronesses of the Home of the Virgin. As for himself, he would do all he could to further the success of a scheme that would be so useful, so conducive to morality.
Marthe accompanied him to the street-door; and there, as Rose held up the lamp to light the footpath, the mayor added:
'Will you tell Abbé Faujas that I shall be glad to have a little conversation with him, if he will kindly call on me? As he has had experience of an establishment of this kind at Besançon, he will be able to give me valuable information. I mean the town to pay for the building, at any rate. Good-bye, dear madame. Give my best compliments to Monsieur Mouret, whom I won't disturb.'
When Abbé Faujas came down with his mother at eight o'clock Mouret merely said to him, with a laugh:
'So you walked my wife off to-day, eh? Well, don't spoil her for me too much, and don't make a saint of her.'
Then he turned to his card-play. He was anxious to revenge himself on Madame Faujas, who had defeated him three evenings in succession; and so Marthe was left free to tell the Abbé of all she had done during the day. She seemed full of child-like pleasure, and was still quite excited with her afternoon. The priest made her repeat certain details, and then promised to call on Monsieur Delangre, although he would have preferred remaining altogether in the background.
'You did wrong to mention my name at all,' he said, when he saw her so moved and yielding. 'But you are like all other women; the best causes would be spoilt in your hands.'