But Monsieur de Chédeville was not listening to him, being enchanted with the pretty face of Berthe, who, with her bright eyes, surrounded by slight bluish rings, was staring at him boldly. Her mother was saying how old she was and where she had been to school; while she herself, smiling and curtseying, invited the gentleman to condescend to walk in.
"Why, certainly, my dear child!" he exclaimed.
Meanwhile the Abbé Godard, button-holing Hourdequin, was begging him once more to persuade the Municipal Council to vote some funds, so that Rognes might at length have a priest of its own. He returned to this subject every six months, giving his reasons—the strain it was upon him, and the constant quarrels he used to have with the village; not to mention that the service itself suffered. "Don't say no!" he added, quickly, seeing the farmer make an evasive gesture. "Speak about it, all the same; I will await the reply."
Then just as Monsieur de Chédeville was on the point of following Berthe, he pushed forward and stopped him in his stubborn, genial way.
"Excuse me, sir," he began. "But the poor church here is in such a state! I want to show it to you, and you must get it repaired for me. No one listens to me. Come, come, I implore you!"
Very much annoyed, the ex-beau was resisting, when Hourdequin, on learning from Macqueron that several of the councillors were already at the municipal offices, where they had been waiting half-an hour, said unceremoniously: "That's the thing! Go and see the church. You will kill time like that until I have done, and then you can take me back home." Monsieur de Chédeville was thus obliged to follow the priest. The crowd had now become larger, and several people started off, dogging his steps. They had grown bolder, too, and everybody was thinking of asking him for something.
When Hourdequin and Macqueron had gone upstairs into the room where the council met, they found three councillors there—Delhomme and two others. The apartment, a moderately large white-washed room, had no other furniture than a long deal table and twelve straw-bottomed chairs. Between the two windows, from which one overlooked the road, there was a cupboard in which the archives were kept, mingled with sundry official documents, while on shelves round the wall there were piles of canvas fire-buckets, the gift of a gentleman, which they did not know where to put, and which proved a useless encumbrance, as they had no fire-engine.
"Gentlemen," said Hourdequin, politely, "I ask your pardon. I have had Monsieur de Chédeville breakfasting with me."
No one moved a muscle; and it was impossible to say whether they accepted this excuse. From the windows they had certainly seen the deputy arrive, and they were also interested in the coming election. But it was not politic for them to commit themselves.
"The devil!" now cried the farmer. "There are only five of us. We shall not be able to come to any decision."