"We always like to hear about the old times," said young Le Brun, apologetically.
"It's about a rascality of Zotique's, the droll boy, when we were young—the delectable history of Mouton. Mouton, the servant of Père Galibert, who in those times was Curé, was a fat man, of the air of a tallow image. You know Legros—the butcher's son,—just like that. If he had had red hair there would have been spontaneous combustion."
"Someone stole the sacramental wine of Pére Galibert, and everyone except the Pére knew it was Mouton. Messire would never believe them, though it so angered him he preached fourteen discourses against the thief. They were eloquent sermons."
"One Sunday afternoon—it was about the Day of St. Michel, when we went in to pay the seigneur his rents—Zotique was at the presbytère with me and his brother the Honorable, and all of us playing cards with Pére Galibert. Zotique had come down from the city with a new keg of wine for the Sacrament, and they were discussing the disappearance. Mouton was there, and he says never a word. "Let it alone," says Zotique, and he looks around and takes up the inkbottle carelessly from the shelf and goes off to the kitchen and down into the cellar, where he puts away the wine, and then he comes back to us, upstairs. Mouton disappears in a moment. Zotique pretends to play,—but he is calculating the seconds. Presently he says, "Monsieur le Curé, you and I are too good players. Let Mouton take my place, and do you play against Benoit and my cousin," and without waiting for any answer he flies out to the kitchen, and cries sharply: "Mouton, Messire wants you!" adding, "Quick, quick, tête de Mouton!" Mouton rushes upstairs, brushing his mouth. There he stands before us, solid as the image of tallow; but his mouth was as black as an oven's, and his features indistinguishable with ink."
The circle, all eagerly listening, burst forth:
"How did Zotique do it?" they cried.
"Voila the mystery."
"What was done to Mouton?"
"Pére Galibert boiled him down into tapers, and sold him to the congregation."
The old man put his pipe, which had gone out, once more to his lips and nonchalantly repeated the operation of lighting it between his hands.