“So your Grace has told me a thousand times,” rudely interrupted Mathilde, flinging out of the room.
The Bishop winked softly to himself; as usual, he had merely suggested a hypothetical case. He knew as well as Mathilde where the scarf and the umbrella and the rest of the things went.
Even the General succumbed to François’ charms to the extent of ten francs which François asked as a temporary assistance.
“Because,” as François said, “you know the proverb—‘God is omnipotent, but money is His first lieutenant.’ Virtue cannot secure a man from poverty—else, would I be lending money instead of borrowing it.”
General Bion promptly handed out the ten francs, and as promptly put it down in his notebook under the head of “Charity.”
The Bishop, by way of excusing himself for listening to François’ songs and jokes and watching his delicious antics, began to urge François quite seriously to repent and confess. At this François balked.
“If I should do that, your Grace,” he said, “I would commit the only one of the sins in the calendar of which I have not had experience; this is hypocrisy. I don’t repent of anything I ever did except one thing. The other sins I repented when I was caught.”
“François,” cried the Bishop, scandalized, “after what you have admitted to me that you have done! And what, pray, is the only sin that troubles your conscience?”
“Once,” said François, “I saw a young lady, an actress now in our company, who is soon to be married, dressing in her dressing-room at the theatre, and I looked at her in her unsunned loveliness for about two seconds. I am very sorry for that.”
“It was indeed wicked, gross, beyond words,” said the Bishop. “But there are other wicked things.”