Thus soliloquising, she thrust the chairs back into their places, and looked round to see if anything suspicious was lying about before going off to bed. In the confessional she picked up a handful of apple-parings, which she threw behind the high altar. And she also found a bit of ribbon torn from some cap, and a lock of black hair, which she made up into a small parcel, with the view of opening an inquiry into the matter. With these exceptions the church seemed to her tidy. There was oil enough for the night in the bracket-lamp of the sanctuary, and as to the flags of the choir, they could do without washing till Saturday. ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock, Monsieur le Curé,’ she said, drawing near the priest, who was still on his knees. ‘You might as well come up now.’ He made no answer, but only bowed his head. ‘All right, I know what that means,’ continued La Teuse. ‘In another hour he will still be on the stones there, giving himself a stomach-ache. I’m off, as I shall only bore him. All the same, I can’t see much sense in it, eating one’s lunch when others are at dinner, and going to bed when the fowls get up!---- I worry you, don’t I, your reverence? Good-night. You’re not at all reasonable!’ She made ready to go, but suddenly came back to put out one of the two lamps, muttering the while that such late prayers spelt ruination in oil. Then, at last, she did go off, after passing her sleeve brushwise over the cloth of the high altar, which seemed to her grey with dust. Abbé Mouret, his eyes uplifted, his arms tightly clasped against his breast, then remained alone. XIV