After the offertory, however, a buzzing murmur sped through the peasant women. Vincent inquisitively turned his head, and in doing so, almost let the charcoal in his censer fall upon the priest’s chasuble. And, wishing to excuse himself, as he saw the Abbé looking at him with an expression of reproof, he murmured: ‘It is your reverence’s uncle, who has just come in.’ At the end of the church, standing beside one of the slender wooden pillars that supported the gallery, Abbé Mouret then perceived Doctor Pascal. The doctor was not wearing his usual cheerful and slightly scoffing expression. Hat in hand, he stood there looking very grave, and followed the service with evident impatience. The sight of the priest at the altar, his solemn demeanour, his slow gestures, and the perfect serenity of his countenance, appeared to gradually increase his irritation. He could not stay there till the end of the mass, but left the church, and walked up and down beside his horse and gig, which he had secured to one of the parsonage shutters. ‘Will that nephew of mine never have finished censing himself?’ he asked of La Teuse, who was just coming out of the vestry. ‘It is all over,’ she replied. ‘Won’t you come into the drawing-room? His reverence is unrobing. He knows you are here.’ ‘Well, unless he were blind, he couldn’t very well help it,’ growled the doctor, as he followed La Teuse into the cold-looking, stiffly furnished chamber, which she pompously called the drawing-room. Here for a few minutes he paced up and down. The gloomy coldness of his surroundings seemed to increase his irritation. As he strode about, flourishing a stick he carried, he kept on striking the well-worn chair-seats of horsehair which sounded hard and dead as stone. Then, tired of walking, he took his stand in front of the mantelpiece, in the centre of which a gaudily painted image of Saint Joseph occupied the place of a clock. ‘Ah! here he comes at last,’ he said, as he heard the door opening. And stepping towards the Abbé he went on: ‘Do you know that you made me listen to half a mass? It is a very long time since that happened to me. But I was bent on seeing you to-day. I have something to say to you.’ Then he stopped, and looked at the priest with an expression of surprise. Silence fell. ‘You at all events are quite well,’ he resumed, in a different voice. ‘Yes, I am very much better than I was,’ replied Abbé Mouret, with a smile. ‘I did not expect you before Thursday. Sunday isn’t your day for coming. Is there something you want to tell me?’ Uncle Pascal did not give an immediate answer. He went on looking at the Abbé. The latter was still fresh from the influence of the church and the mass. His hair was fragrant with the perfume of the incense, and in his eyes shone all the joy of the Cross. His uncle jogged his head, as he noticed that expression of triumphant peace.