"Exactly. You speak to him."
"And what am I to tell your father?"
"Why, what you tell people in your sermons to make them give you sous."
In the peasant's mind every effort of religion consisted in loosening the purses, in emptying the pockets of men in order to fill the heavenly coffer. It was a kind of huge commercial establishment, of which the curés were the clerks, sly, crafty clerks, sharp as anyone must be who does business for the good God at the expense of the country people.
He knew full well that the priests rendered services, great services to the poorest, to the sick and dying, that they assisted, consoled, counseled, sustained, but all this by means of money, in exchange for white pieces, for beautiful glittering coins, with which they paid for sacraments and masses, advice and protection, pardon of sins and indulgences, purgatory and paradise accompanying the yearly income, and the generosity of the sinner.
The Abbe Raffin, who knew his man, and who never lost his temper, burst out laughing.
"Well, yes, I'll tell your father my little story; but you, my lad, you'll go there—to the sermon."
Houlbrèque extended his hand in order to give a solemn assurance:
"On the word of a poor man, if you do this for me, I promise that I will."
"Come, that's all right. When do you wish me to go and find your father?"