But the abbé went on, in a slightly droning voice. The book appealed to him all the more because he was no stranger to its subject matter. He had once studied Egyptian history thoroughly for a brochure he was preparing concerning the sect of the United Coptic Church. He had, moreover, published in the Annals of Christian Archeology, two articles dealing with the Hagiographs of the Thebaid. M. Raindal confessed he had not read them; and the abbé volunteered “if it were not too indiscreet” to send the issues of the periodical that contained them.
His head was oval yet chubby, all flesh, as it were, but for a crown of brown hair around his baldness. M. Raindal thought he had a good-natured smile. Gradually the master thawed out. He imparted to the abbé some picturesque details concerning the Thebaid which, from professional instinct, he had explored. The priest listened studiously, showed him deference and solemnly nodded from the back of his head. Zozé took advantage of a pause to ask:
“You will stay for dinner, M. bbé?”
“Well, yes, madame,” he replied without hesitation, his round cheeks distended in a cordial smile. “Yes, surely, if you will have me!”
“And you, dear master?” Zozé pursued. “Will you join the party?”
“Oh, it is impossible, dear lady,” M. Raindal sighed. “I am expected.... Believe me, I am very sorry....”
He ceased abruptly as Chambannes entered, wearily caressing his thick hinge-like mustache. Everyone stood up. He shook hands with M. Raindal and asked, patting Zoz neck, as one might do to a school-girl:
“Well, how did the lesson go, my dear sir?... Are you satisfied with your pupil?”
“Very much gratified, monsieur ... an excellent beginning.”
“Oh, we have not accomplished very much!” Zozé said. “But you are coming next Thursday!... Thursday, I shall forbid the door.... I shall be at home to no one.... You promise to come, do you, dear master?”