"And you—and you learned quite early the irregularity of your mother's position?"
"Why, certainly. I am not innocent and I never was. Those things are easy to guess as soon as one begins to know life."
Philippe-Auguste had been filling his glass repeatedly. His eyes now were beginning to sparkle, for his long fast was favorable to the intoxicating effects of the wine. The priest noticed it and wished to caution him. But suddenly the thought that a drunkard is imprudent and loquacious flashed through him, and lifting the bottle he again filled the young man's glass.
Meanwhile Marguerite had brought the chicken. Having set it on the table, she again fastened her eyes on the tramp, saying in an indignant voice: "Can't you see that he's drunk, Monsieur le Curé?"
"Leave us," replied the priest, "and return to the kitchen."
She went out, slamming the door.
He then inquired: "What did your mother say about me?"
"Why, what a woman usually says of a man she has jilted: that you were hard to get along with, very strange, and that you would have made her life miserable with your peculiar ideas."
"Did she say that often?"
"Yes, but sometimes only in allusions, for fear I would understand; but nevertheless I guessed all."