“The work to be done,” murmured Sabot, in dismay.
Then the priest turned round and looking him straight in the eyes, said:
“Do you mean the repairs in the chancel of my church?”
At the tone of the abbe, Theodule Sabot felt a chill run down his back and he once more had a longing to take to his heels. However, he replied humbly:
“Why, yes, monsieur le cure.”
Then the abbe folded his arms across his large stomach and, as if filled with amazement, said:
“Is it you—you—you, Sabot—who have come to ask me for this... You—the only irreligious man in my parish! Why, it would be a scandal, a public scandal! The archbishop would give me a reprimand, perhaps transfer me.”
He stopped a few seconds, for breath, and then resumed in a calmer tone: “I can understand that it pains you to see a work of such importance entrusted to a carpenter from a neighboring parish. But I cannot do otherwise, unless—but no—it is impossible—you would not consent, and unless you did, never.”
Sabot now looked at the row of benches in line as far as the entrance door. Christopher, if they were going to change all those!
And he asked: