"Money," replied M. le Curé, "when the soul is wanting in charity, is given, and there it ends; but what I have come to ask of you is a good work which will not end for a long while, and which will need good-will, and great patience especially, on your part." "I can guess what it is," said Pierrette. "Indeed!" replied the _curé_. "Well, that spares me the difficulty of explaining myself. Let us hear, Mme. Ragaud, what you have guessed." "I have heard it said you were very much worried about your surplices and altar-linens, since Catharine Luguet left the country so shamefully, like a good-for-nothing girl, to seek her fortune in Paris," said La Ragaude, blushing--for this Catharine was a distant cousin--"and doubtless, M. le Curé, you wish me to replace her, and take charge of the sacristy." "And if it were so, would you refuse me?" "Certainly not, monsieur. I would willingly do my best to please you. Not that I have as light a hand as Catharine for plaiting and folding; but for washing and ironing, I can say, without boasting, I am the equal of any one." "Thank you," said the _curé_. "I accept an offer made so willingly. But to speak truly, I have not come for that." "Then," replied Pierrette, in astonishment, "I cannot imagine what you want me to do." "This is it," said the _curé_, taking a serious tone: "This morning, Pierrette, a bundle was left at my house...." "I bet," cried La Ragaude, "it was the beautiful monstrance promised by M. le Marquis for Corpus Christi!" "No, it was a new-born infant, a beautiful boy, Mme. Ragaud; and, since the good God has allowed you to remain childless, and that this privation has greatly afflicted you, I immediately thought he destined this child for you." "Monsieur," replied Pierrette, with emotion, "it is true that it is very hard for me to be alone in the house, and to think that I will die and leave no one after me to inherit Muiceron; but I prefer it to working all my life for a child sprung, perhaps, from a wicked race." "I know where it comes from," said the _curé_; "but still I can tell you nothing, as it is a secret of the confessional. But have confidence in me; as for the race, it is not bad." "It is the same thing. I don't believe in these foundlings." "Say nothing further about it," replied the _curé_ rather sadly; "I will send it to the hospital." And then, without appearing to feel either pique or bitterness, M. le Curé commenced to converse on other subjects, speaking of the next harvest, the price of the new wine, and of the last fair, with even voice and kind looks, that showed plainly he did not wish his parishioner to think he was pained by her rather prompt refusal.