"That is the way he went! He leaped into Cochefilet lane. Oh, what an outrage! He has stolen our plate."
The Bishop remained silent for a moment, then raised his earnest eyes, and said gently to Madame Magloire,—
"By the way, was that plate ours?"
Madame Magloire was speechless; there was another interval of silence, after which the Bishop continued,—
"Madame Magloire, I had wrongfully held back this silver, which belonged to the poor. Who was this person? Evidently a poor man."
"Good gracious!" Madame Magloire continued; "I do not care for it, nor does Mademoiselle, but we feel for Monseigneur. With what will Monseigneur eat now?"
The Bishop looked at her in amazement. "Why, are there not pewter forks to be had?"
Madame Magloire shrugged her shoulders. "Pewter smells!"
"Then iron!"
Madame Magloire made an expressive grimace. "Iron tastes."