‘My dear good Berthier,’ said Foulon, ‘what is the use of wishing things to be otherwise than they are? always accept facts, and make the most of them. Gustave! take the dogs away. They make a confounded noise.’ ‘Remain here,’ said Lindet, in an agitated voice; ‘I will go and summon Madame Pin, the old woman whose house this is. She is as deaf as a post.’ ‘Do not go!’ pleaded Gabrielle, trembling; ‘perhaps they may get in. Wait, wait, to defend me.’ Lindet stood and listened to the voices outside. The dogs were collared and withdrawn. Foulon tapped at the door. ‘Do not open,’ entreated Gabrielle. ‘Well! Monsieur le Curé,’ said the old gentleman through the door; ‘sly priest! so the little rogue is with you? What will the bishop say? So late at night!’ The noise had attracted the musician to his window. The mother of the sick child had opened her casement, and was looking out. Madame Leroux started out of the dose into which she had fallen, and appeared at her garret window. ‘What is the matter?’ asked the musician. ‘Ah, M. Corbelin!’ exclaimed Foulon, in a loud voice; ‘what foxes these curés are! We have just seen one admit a young and pretty girl to his house. Hark! it is striking midnight. No wonder all the dogs in the town have been giving them a charivari.’ Then, in a low tone to Berthier, he said: ‘My good boy! I have served out our curé now, for having repeated in the pulpit certain observations I made in private. Those she-dragons yonder’--he pointed up at the windows--‘will have ruined Thomas Lindet for ever. Come, let us go home.’ CHAPTER XIV. It was evident that the States-general must be convoked. All attempts on the part of the Court at evasion provoked so loud and so indignant a burst of feeling from every quarter of France, that Louis XVI finally resolved on conquering his repugnance and yielding to popular pressure.