‘Ah, ha! my dear curé. Sly fellow! Do you remember the pretty little peasantess? Well, I allow she was pretty, bewitching enough to have captivated a saint, therefore quite excusable in a curé to have been ensnared.’ ‘Monsieur Foulon!’ said the prelate with dignity, ruffling up, and throwing a tone of reprimand into his voice. ‘I beg your lordship’s pardon a thousand times, but he is too sly. He amuses me infinitely.’ Thomas Lindet had much difficulty in controlling his naturally quick temper. He gripped the back of the chair with nervous force, and his lips whitened and trembled. ‘I know you will allow me,’ said Foulon, withdrawing the chair; and bringing it to the table, he seated himself upon it. Lindet, standing without support, shook like a leaf in the wind. He folded his arms on his breast, and pressed them tightly against it, to keep down the bounding heart. ‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ‘this person has charged me with having received a poor girl into my house.’ ‘I saw her slip in, and I heard you bolt the door after her,’ said Foulon; ‘you did not suppose that anyone would be about at midnight, eh?’ ‘Was she a relation?’ asked the bishop. ‘She was not, my Lord,’ answered the curé. ‘A relative of your housekeeper?’ ‘No.’ ‘Who was she?’ ‘She was a poor orphan girl, whom Madame Berthier, that person’s daughter, had entrusted to my charge, to protect her from M. Berthier. The child was in danger here----’ ‘Excuse me,’ said Foulon in a grave tone, addressing himself to the bishop, ‘is this curé to bring charges of such a nature as this against my son-in-law, in his own house?’ ‘You are right,’ answered Monseigneur de Narbonne; ‘I insist on you, M. Lindet, exculpating yourself without slandering others.’ ‘M. Foulon,’ said the priest, turning upon the old gentleman, then engrossed in snuffing; ‘you know that what I say is true. You know that the child was decoyed into this house by your son-in-law; you know that your own daughter stood between her and her would-be destroyer.’ ‘He is mad,’ said Foulon, calmly. ‘Dear, dear me!’ Lindet could endure no more; his blood boiled up, and the suppressed passion blazed into action. He sprang upon the imperturbable old man, and caught him by the shoulders, and forced him round in his chair to face him. ‘Take some snuff,’ said Foulon, extending his box. ‘Deny what I have said, if you dare!’ ‘Certainly not; I will deny nothing. Of course the girl was brought here; of course my Imogène stood between her and ruin; of course she besought you to stand protector to the child;--there, does that satisfy you? I grant all, you see, now be calm. Always say “yes, yes” to a maniac; it is safest,’ he added, aside to the bishop.