"What a double brute! He will be a fool, if he is not one already," said the abbé to himself. "I will not complain of it, because, his insanity once established, he will not leave our house, and whether it is he or his niece little matters."
The abbé approached the canon with compunction, and said to him, gently:
"Come, my brother, be reasonable, calm yourself, perhaps we ought to see in what has happened the punishment of Heaven."
"I think with you, abbé, this tempter came from hell. It is not given to any human being to be such a cook. Ah, abbé, I must be a great sinner, for my punishment is terrible!"
"You have indeed surrendered yourself, without measure, without restraint, to one of the foulest of the capital sins,—gluttony, my dear brother,—and I repeat to you Heaven punishes you, as is its law, in the very thing by which you have sinned."
"But after all, what is my crime? I have simply used the admirable gifts of the Creator, for in fact it is not I who, in order to enjoy them, have created pheasants, ortolans, fat livers, salmon trout, truffles, oysters, lobsters, wines, and—"
"My brother, my brother!" cried the abbé, interrupting this appetising enumeration, "your words savour of materialism, pantheism, heresy! You are not in a state of mind to listen to me as I refute these impious, abominable systems which lead directly to paganism. But there is one indisputable fact, which is, that you suffer, my brother, you suffer cruelly; it is for us to bind up your wounds, my tender brother, it is for us to comfort them with balm and honey."
At these words the canon made an involuntary grimace, because, in his gastronomic monomania, the idea of honey and balm was especially distasteful.
The abbé continued:
"Let us see, my dear brother, let us return to the cause of all your ills."