“If you do not mind I should like to get through with this little matter at once.”
The cure replied:
“I am at your service. I have my surplice here. One minute and I will listen to you.”
The carpenter, so disturbed that he had not two ideas in his head, watched him as he put on the white vestment with its pleated folds. The priest beckoned to him and said:
“Kneel down on this cushion.”
Sabot remained standing, ashamed of having to kneel. He stuttered:
“Is it necessary?”
But the abbe had become dignified.
“You cannot approach the penitent bench except on your knees.”
And Sabot knelt down.