Abbé Mouret was about to intervene, but La Teuse sharply inquired if they wanted to make game of her and keep her arms up there all night. At last she proceeded to fasten the olive bough firmly, while Catherine, holding on to the steps behind her, mimicked the clumsy manner in which she turned her huge person about with the help of her sound leg. Even the priest could not forbear to smile. ‘There,’ said La Teuse, as she came down and stood beside him to get a good view of her work, ‘there’s the top done. Now we will put some clumps between the candlesticks, unless you would prefer a garland all along the altar shelf.’ The priest decided in favour of some big clumps. ‘Very good; come on, then,’ continued the old servant, once more clambering up the steps. ‘We can’t go to bed here. Just kiss the altar, will you, Miette? Do you fancy you are in your stable? Monsieur le Curé, do just see what they are up to over there! I can hear them laughing like lunatics.’ On raising one of the two lamps the dark end of the church was lit up and three of the girls were discovered romping about under the gallery; one of them had stumbled and pitched head foremost into the holy water stoup, which mishap had so tickled the others that they were rolling on the ground to laugh at their ease. They all came back, however, looking at the priest sheepishly, with lowered eyelids, but with their hands swinging against their hips as if a scolding rather pleased them than otherwise. However, the measure of La Teuse’s wrath was filled when she suddenly perceived Rosalie coming up to the altar like the others with a bundle of boughs in her arms. ‘Get down, will you?’ she cried to her. ‘You are a cool one, and no mistake, my lass!--Hurry up, off you go with your bundle.’ ‘What for, I’d like to know?’ said Rosalie boldly. ‘You can’t say I have stolen it.’ The other girls drew closer, feigning innocence and exchanging sparkling glances. ‘Clear out,’ repeated La Teuse, ‘you have no business here, do you hear?’ Then, quite losing her scanty patience, she gave vent to a very coarse epithet, which provoked a titter of delight among the peasant girls. ‘Well, what next?’ said Rosalie. ‘Mind your own business. Is it any concern of yours?’ Then she burst into a fit of sobbing and threw down her boughs, but let the Abbé lead her aside and give her a severe lecture. He had already tried to silence La Teuse; for he was beginning to feel uneasy amidst the big shameless hussies who filled the church with their armfuls of foliage. They were pushing right up to the altar step, enclosing him with a belt of woodland, wafting in his face a rank perfume of aromatic shoots. ‘Let us make haste, be quick!’ he exclaimed, clapping his hands lightly. ‘Goodness knows I would rather be in my bed,’ grumbled La Teuse. ‘It’s not so easy as you think to fasten all these bits of stuff.’