"In that case, we can speak of other things; for I don't know any more about it than you. We will leave it for God to clear up. Go and catch your boy, who will fall into the pond, Magdaleine Piédau, and lend me your sickle, that I may cut some grass for my cows.... But to think that Ragaud ill-treats his wife--no, no; that is out of the question. After that, where may we hope to find a good man? One don't know...." "No, neighbor, one never knows how it is with them. You speak like a priest, my good woman. The deceased Piédau, my man, that every one believed so good, ..." "Good-evening, Magdaleine." "Was a drunkard and big eater. I concealed it for ten years, and wept alone like the mistress of Muiceron." "Good-evening, neighbor." II. One summer day, when La Ragaude was washing her earthen pans in the sun, she saw the _curé_ of Ordonniers advancing through the path in the woods. He was a worthy priest, beloved by all, and well deserving of it on account of his great charity. I have heard it said that, in the years when bread was so dear, he gave away his last measure of wheat, and then, having no more for himself, was obliged to go to the miller, Pierre Cotentin, and ask for some flour on credit. "It is not my custom," said he gaily, "and you are not bound to oblige me; but the times are hard, and you must never refuse to give alms, even to your _curé_." The miller filled the bag willingly; and as for the money, although he was very fond of it, he would never hear the word mentioned. Said he, "M. le Curé has an empty purse. We must not ask him where the last cent went, poor dear man! Pierre Cotentin can well feed him--it is justice! Who will have the heart to be jealous?" And in fact, the _curé_ was so respected that not a boy, no matter how bad he was, ever failed to take off his cap when passing him. When La Ragaude saw the black cassock coming towards Muiceron, she quickly arranged her pans, and threw aside her working-apron; for she was a careful woman and thorough housekeeper. "Good-morning, M. le Curé; how are you?" she asked joyfully. "Very warm, very warm," replied the _curé_; "otherwise, well." "My dear monsieur, why did you not wait until the cool of the evening to do us the honor of visiting us? It is roasting in the road. I thought just now I would send a servant to replace my husband in the fields. A storm is rising, the flies bite, Ragaud is not as strong as he was at twenty, and I am afraid of the beasts--they are difficult to control when they become impatient." "Ah! your husband is absent?" "Have you something to say to him, monsieur?" "To him and to you also, my good woman." "Come in and refresh yourself," said she.