He evinced great pleasure at meeting M. Raindal. Behind his spectacles, his eyes shone with joy. Zozé started them in conversation and ran out to dress.
“Yes,” M. Raindal said politely, “your articles seemed to me excellent, well thought out, replete with learning.... I am surprised—should I admit it?—that with this obvious gift for science, you have not made a, what shall I say? a more voluminous, more considerable literary output....”
“Oh, dear master, you are too indulgent, too ... too kind!...” the abbé stammered, his voice quivering with satisfaction.
He then justified himself eloquently for his lack of literary production. Could anyone rightly charge him with being lazy? No, his sterility was due to other causes. First of all, there was the orphanage which required his assiduous, daily care, care of all sorts, financial as well as moral, literary as much as administrative. Then, there were his enemies, his numberless enemies who, had he published more works, would not have failed to discover in that fact a new motive for calumny, as they found some in every act of his, even the most virtuous, even the most innocent!
For there was no doubt about it, the abbé was, alas, the most calumniated priest of Seine-et-Oise. All the parties hated him! They all rivaled in ill-using him, in bringing him into discredit. Under the pretext that he was sought for at the neighboring châteaux—that of Mme. Chambannes, for instance, the Château des Frettes—the radicals of the region accused him before the prefect of carrying on a reactionary propaganda. On the other hand, anonymous denunciations poured in at the bisho palace, and they bore the clerical hall-mark. They asserted that the abbé Touronde compromised daily—here the abb voice was lowered and became confidential—the supereminent dignity of his cloth in worldly frivolity and association with heretics.
“Heretics!” the priest repeated with indignation. “Hah! can I pick and choose? Can I ask the donors for their regular baptism certificate? Should I decline the money of the Israelites who help me bring up my children?... Poor little things! Were it not for them, Heaven knows that the world, mundane frivolities, would not see much of me....”
He paused suddenly, as if he had heard the voice of his own conscience:
“Yes, yes, Bastien Touronde, you would still go there, because you enjoy good dinners, the sight of pretty women, luxury and comfort, and also because in the midst of this society, which knows little of dogmas, you are aware that your presence among the temptations causes much less scandal than it would elsewhere....”
And the abb lips whispered softly, as they did on his visits to the bishop, when Monseigneur blamed him for his worldly behavior:
“Non culpabiliter! non culpabiliter!”