"Is he still at the farm, where he went on coming out of prison, and from which he wrote us to announce M. Ferrand's discontinuance of the suit?" "Probably, for yesterday I went to the place where he directed us to go; they told me that he was still in the country, and that I could write to him at Bouqueval, near Ecouen, at Madame George's." "Oh! a carriage!" said Chalamel, leaning over toward the window. "Nothing but a hackney-coach." "And who gets out?" "Stop a moment! Oh! a black-gown!" "A woman! a woman! Oh! let us see." "This gutter-jumper is indecently sensitive at his age; he only thinks of women. We shall have to chain him up, or he will carry off the Sabines from the streets; for, as said the Swan of Cambray in his Treatise on Education for the Dauphin, "'Of Gutter-jumper have a care, Who assaults the lovely fair.'" "I demand the head of Chalamel!" "M. Chalamel, you said a black robe, I thought." "It is the curé, goose! Let him be an example for you." "The curé of the parish? The good pastor?" "Himself." "He is a worthy man!" "He is no Jesuit, not he." "I think not; and if all the priests were like him everybody would be devout." "Silence! some one opens the door." And all the clerks, bending over their desks, began to scratch away with apparent industry, making their pens pass rapidly over the paper. The pale face of this priest was at once mild and grave, intelligent and venerable, its expression full of benevolence and serenity. A small black cap concealed his tonsure, and his long gray hair floated on the collar of his maroon-colored coat. Let us add that, from his simple credulity, this excellent priest had always been, and was still, the dupe of Jacques Ferrand's deep and cunning hypocrisy. "Your worthy master is in his cabinet, my son?" asked the curé. "Yes, M. l'Abbé," said Chalamel, rising respectfully. And he opened for the priest the door leading into a room adjoining the office. Hearing some one speaking with vehemence in the cabinet of the notary, the abbé, not wishing to hear, walked rapidly toward the door, and knocked. "Come in," said a voice with an Italian accent, and the priest found himself face to face with Jacques Ferrand and Polidori. [Illustration: THE STORY IS TOLD]