"Ah, monseigneur" (for many people styled him monseigneur), "it is surely Providence that has sent you to us!"
"What is the matter?" inquired the abbé.
"Our grandfather is dying, and he is unwilling to die without confession."
"But I have nothing to do with that, my child; that is the priest's business."
"But are you not a priest, monseigneur?"
"Almost," replied our abbé, rather taken aback by this home-thrust, and in a very bad humor besides at the interruption, "almost; but address yourself in preference to the prior of the convent. Run to the château, ring at the convent-gate; ring loudly, and reserve me for a better occasion."
"Monseigneur," repeated the girl, "our grandfather has not time to wait; he is dying—you must come."
"I tell you," replied the abbé, confused within himself at his refusal, "I cannot go. I am, as you see, out shooting: the thing is utterly impossible."
With these words he sought to pursue his way; but the young girl, who could not comprehend the bad arguments made use of by the abbé, clung obstinately to his coat skirts, and compelled him to turn round. Aroused by the noise of this altercation, a few of the male population appeared on the thresholds of their doors, others at their windows; and as a village resembles a bundle of dry hay, which a spark will set in a blaze, the wives joined their husbands, the children their mothers, and soon the entire population flocked into the street to see what was the matter.
The Abbé du Jard, seigneur of Voisenon, king of the country, felt deeply humiliated amid the crowd which surrounded him, and which had already begun to murmur at this refusal, as irreligious as it was inhuman.