“I will come back directly,” he said to the Cure, “I want to speak to you.”
He turned abruptly away. The Abbe Constantin had not even had time to give Loulou his piece of sugar, or rather his pieces of sugar, for he had put five or six in his pocket, considering that Loulou had well deserved this feast by ten long days’ march, and a score of nights passed under the open sky.
Besides, since Mrs. Scott had lived at Longueval, Loulou had very often had several pieces of sugar; the Abbe Constantin had become extravagant, prodigal; he felt himself a millionaire, the sugar for Loulou was one of his follies. One day, even, he had been on the point of addressing to Loulou his everlasting little speech:
“This comes from the new mistresses of Longueval; pray for them to-night.”
It was three o’clock when Jean arrived at the vicarage, and the Cure said, immediately:
“You told me that you wanted to speak to me; what is it about?”
“About something, my dear godfather, which will surprise you, will grieve you—”
“Grieve me!”
“Yes, and which grieves me, too—I have come to bid you farewell.”
“Farewell! you are going away?”