The abbé, good Catholic as he was, emptied his toast to the poor as gaily as that to the king. "There!" said Bougainville. "Now it is agreed we set off for Havre." "Antoine, you must be mad!" "You shall see the sea, my friend ... and such a sea! Not a lake like the poor Mediterranean; but the ocean, which rolls round the world!" "Do not tempt me, you wretched fellow!" "The ocean, which you yourself admit it has been the desire of your life to see!" "_Vade retro, Satanas!_" "It is only a matter of a week." "But do you not know, then, that if I absent myself for a week without leave I shall lose my curé?" "I have foreseen that, and as monseigneur, the Bishop of Versailles, was with the king, I made him sign you a permit, telling him you were coming with me." "You told him that?" "Yes." "And he signed me a permit?" "Here it is." "Dear me, it is indeed his signature! Good! I would swear to it!" "My friend, you are a sailor at heart." "Give me my fifty louis and let me go." "Here they are, but you shall not go." "Why not?" "Because I am authorised by the king to hand you fifty more at Havre, and you will not be so mean a Christian as to deprive your poor people--your children, the flock over which the Saviour has given you charge--of fifty beautiful golden louis!" "Very well!" cried the Abbé Rémy, "then I will go to Havre! But it is only for their sakes I consent." Then, stopping suddenly-- "No," he said violently, "it is impossible!" "Why impossible?" "Marianne!..." "You shall write to her to relieve her anxiety." "What shall I tell her, my friend?" "Tell her that you have met the Bishop of Versailles, and that he has given you leave to go to Havre." "That would be lying!" "To lie for a good motive is not a sin, but a virtue." "She will not believe me." "You can show her the permit signed by the bishop." "Stay, that is true.... Ah! you barristers, you soldiers and sailors, you do not stick at anything." "See, you want pen and ink and paper?" The Abbé Rémy reflected for a minute, and no doubt he said to himself that a written lie was a bigger sin than a spoken one, for suddenly he said-- "No, I would rather tell her on my return.... But she will think me dead." "She will be all the more pleased when she sees you back alive!" "Then, my friend, do not leave me time to reflect, but carry me off now!" "Nothing easier." So, turning to the two officers-- "The horses are in, are they not?" "Yes, captain." "Well then, let us go!" "_En voiture!_" repeated the Abbé Rémy in the tones of a man who flings himself head-first into some unknown peril. "_En voiture!_" repeated the two officers gaily.