“And besides that, Monsieur le Cure, I am going to give you five hundred francs a month,” said Mrs. Scott.
“And I will do like my sister.”
Delicately they slipped their offerings into the right and left hands of the Cure, who, looking at each hand alternately, said:
“What are these little things? They are very heavy; there must be money in them. Yes, but how much, how much?”
The Abbe Constantin was seventy-two, and much money had passed through his hands, but this money had come to him in small sums, and the idea of such an offering as this had never entered his head. Two thousand francs! Never had he had so much in his possession—no, not even one thousand. He stammered:
“I am very grateful to you, Madame; you are very good, Mademoiselle—”
But after all he could not thank them enough, and Jean thought it necessary to come to his assistance.
“They have given you two thousand francs!”
And then, full of warmest gratitude; the Cure cried:
“Two thousand francs! Two thousand francs for my poor!”