"Bon soir, Jean Baptiste," said Mère Tabeau one evening, as the young man passed her home on his way to visit his friend Michel Gamache.
"Bon soir, Madame," said Jean, politely, but not stopping, as he sometimes did, to gossip with the old woman.
"Not so fast, Jean. Wait a minute. I have something to tell you. Come here."
"Another time, Madame Tabeau, if you please. I must hasten this evening."
"No time!" cackled the old crone in a shrill, querulous voice. "No time to talk to a poor old woman; no time for that, oh, no! But time enough for your friend the sorcerer, that servant of the devil."
"Madame Tabeau, take care what you say. You speak of Monsieur Gamache, no doubt. He is old, perhaps, and not at all handsome, but he is no sorcerer. On the contrary, I think him a good man. In any case, he is my friend, as you say, and I do not wish to hear you give him evil names."
"You do not wish it, your lordship? Very well, I will not say it. He is a good man, a saint, perhaps, or possibly an angel in disguise. Who knows? But what species of angel, eh? You are sure? You can tell? What did the curé say in his sermon last Sunday? I go to Mass, as you know, every Sunday, to confession also, at least once a year. But what did the curé say? Satan can deceive the saints even, when he puts on his best clothes. But not Jean Baptiste Giroux. Oh, no! Nobody could fool him, not even a woman, certainly not a poor old woman like me."
Mère Tabeau relapsed into silence, puffing at her black pipe, but steadily regarding Jean with her fish-like eyes. His curiosity was aroused.
"Madame Tabeau," he said, in a conciliating tone, "do not be angry. I was to blame. You may say what you please. You have something to tell me, and I will gladly listen."
"Oh, he will listen; his grandeur will deign to hear what the old woman has to say. But he will hear nothing."