"When you speak of your pastor, do so in a more becoming manner," interrupted Mademoiselle de Colrandeuil, although she herself in private did not speak of the plebeian priest in very respectful terms. But if Joseph Bartou's son was always the son of Joseph Bartou to her, she meant that he should be Monsieur le Cure to the peasants. Madame de Bergenheim had not been much affected by Pere Rousselet's harangue, and shook her head impatiently, saying in an imperative tone: "I am certain that the newspapers have been opened by you, or by some person to whom you have given them, and I wish to know at once by whom." Rousselet dropped his pose of a Roman senator; passing his hand behind his ears, a familiar gesture with people when in embarrassing positions, he continued less emphatically: "I stopped on my way back at La Fauconnerie, at the 'Femme-sans-Tete Inn'." "And what were you doing in a tavern?" interrupted Mademoiselle de Corandeuil severely. "You know it is not intended that the servants in this house should frequent taverns and such low places, which are not respectable and corrupt the morals of the lower classes." "Servants! lower classes! Old aristocrat!" growled Rousselet secretly; but, not daring to show his ill humor, he replied in a bland voice: "If Mademoiselle had gone the same road that I did, with the same conveyance, she would know that it is a rather thirsty stretch. I stopped at the 'Femme-sans-Tete' to wash the dust down my parched throat. Whereupon Mademoiselle Reine--the daughter of Madame Gobillot, the landlady of the inn--Mademoiselle Reine asked me to allow her to look at the yellow-journal in which there are fashions for ladies; I asked her why; she said it was so that she might see how they made their bonnets, gowns, and other finery in Paris. The frivolity of women!" Mademoiselle de Corandeuil threw herself back in her chair and gave way to an access of hilarity in which she rarely indulged. "Mademoiselle Gobillot reading La Mode! Mademoiselle Gobillot talking of gowns, shawls, and cashmeres! Clemence, what do you say to that? You will see, she will be ordering her bonnets from Herbault! Ha! ha! This is what is called the progress of civilization, the age of light!" "Mademoiselle Gobillot," said Clemence, fixing a penetrating glance upon the old man, "was not the only one who looked at La Mode. Was there no other person in the tavern who saw it?" "Madame," replied Rousselet, forced from his last refuge, "there were two young men taking their refection, and one of them wore a beard no longer than a goat's. Madame will pardon me if I allow myself to use this vulgar expression, but Madame wished to know all." "And the other young man?" "The other had his facial epidermis shaved as close as a lady's or mine. He was the one who held the journal while his comrade was smoking outside the door."