‘Indeed! I thought your visit was one of congratulation to the poor old man, Foulon, on having made a shrewd and pertinent remark at last--at last, after so many years of stupidity, Foulon has given promise of being witty and wise. But allow me to observe that you did not give my remarks exactly as they were made. Not that a word or two is of consequence, but still accuracy is a point--a point, you understand, we revenue farmers learn to appreciate.’ ‘Sir, I came here----’ ‘Pardon me, my dear curé, we will stick to the point. The expressions I used were these. “Bah!--” you did not render that interjection in your version. Now, that interjection is expressive; besides, it is characteristic; I always use it. Well, I said, “Bah! if the peasants are hungry, let them browse grass. Wait till I am minister, I will make them eat hay; my horses eat hay.” You left out the words “wait till I am minister.” Be exact, my good friend; exactness is a virtue.’ ‘M. Foulon, I have come here----’ ‘One moment, my good curé; here is a little lesson of Christian forgiveness for you to take home with you. This day you desired to turn loose these hungry peasants on me; this day I have chained up a savage bloodhound that was ravening to be at your throat. Now, what have you to say?’ ‘I want to know where is the girl Gabrielle André, whom your son-in-law, M. Berthier, and you, M. Foulon, carried out of church this afternoon?’ ‘Bah! I am ashamed of my good, model curé. He is as bad as we naughty laymen, and runs after pretty girls and petticoats.’ Lindet clenched his hands and teeth. ‘She is your charming niece, is she not? Ah, ha! my sad scapegrace of a curé!’ ‘M. Foulon, I will not have this,’ said the priest, passionately; ‘this insult is intolerable.’ ‘Then you can always leave the court,’ answered the old man; ‘see! the door is open. But we will not quarrel. Come along into the hall and have some refreshment.’ Lindet stamped. The imperturbable coolness and insolence of the old gentleman exasperated his fiery spirit. ‘Come, come, cool down,’ said Foulon; ‘I did not mean to irritate you. Is the girl your relative?’ ‘No.’ ‘Of course, then, she is one of your parishioners?’ ‘No, she is not.’ ‘Then, pardon me, but I am surprised at your taking so much trouble, and running the risk of being torn to pieces by those villanous dogs, to make enquiries about her. I will answer all your enquiries with the utmost frankness, if you can assure me that her father authorized you to come here and demand her.’ Lindet’s face became crimson. He bit his lips with vexation. That he was completely at the old man’s mercy, he felt; and he was conscious that the revenue-farmer was making him ridiculous. ‘I insist on knowing whether the girl is here. I know her father and her, and I have a perfect right to make these enquiries. I now ask to see her. You dare not keep her here against her father’s and her own will.’