—I come, Monsieur le Capitaine, said Marcel, to pay you my visit as pastor, although perhaps a little late. But you are aware doubtless that I have had the honour of knocking once already at your door.
—You should not have troubled yourself, my dear sir, and you should adhere to that; I belong so little to the holy flock.
—I owe myself to all, said Marcel smiling, to the bad sheep—I mean to the wandering sheep, just as to the good ones; to watch over the one, to bring back and cure the others.
—Oh! Oh! Well, sir shepherd, you are losing your time finely, for I am a worn-out goat.
—There will be more joys in heaven over one sinner that repenteth….
—That is the story of the 99 just persons that you are going to tell us; we know it, and, let me tell you, it is not encouraging for the 99 just persons.
The Curé, seeing himself on dangerous ground, hastened to leap elsewhere.
—This is a charming little house, Captain; it is a sweet retreat after toilsome and glorious years, for you have had numerous campaigns, have you not?
—Fifteen years in Africa, thirty-two campaigns, thirty years' service, two wounds, one of them received at Rome when we fought for that old bully Pius IX.
Marcel had gone astray again; he quickly seized hold of the wounds.