The cloven foot : $b A novelBraddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
The cloven foot : $b A novel
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
Detective and mystery stories; Domestic fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Psychological fiction
He then went on to tell John Treverton that his superior, Father le
Mescam, the curé of the parish, had been attached to that church for
the last thirty years, and could doubtless recall every event of
importance that had happened in the town during that period. He was
likely to know much of the private history of his congregation; and
as he was the most amiable of men, he would doubtless be willing to
communicate anything which a stranger could have the right to know.
‘Sir, you are most obliging,’ said John Treverton. ‘Extend your
courtesy still further, and bring Father le Mescam to dine with me and
my friend at six o’clock this evening, and you will weigh me down with
obligations.’
‘You are very kind, sir,’ murmured the priest. ‘We have vespers at
five--yes, at six we shall be free. I shall feel much pleasure in
persuading Father le Mescam to accept your very gracious invitation.’
‘A thousand thanks. I consider it settled. We are staying at the
Pavillon d’en haut, where I suppose that if a man cannot _dine_,
he can at least eat.’
‘Sir, I take it upon myself to answer for the hotel. As a type of the
provincial cuisine the Pavillon d’en haut will prove itself worthy of
your praise. You shall not be discontented with your dinner. I pledge
myself to that. Till six o’clock, sir.’
The _Vicaire_ lifted his biretta, and left them.
‘It will go hard if I cannot find out something about my wife’s
antecedents from a man who has lived thirty years in Auray,’ said John
Treverton, as he and his companion walked down the narrow stony street
leading to the river. ‘So beautiful a woman must have been remarkable
in a place like this.’
‘Judging from the specimens of female loveliness I have met with so
far, I should say very remarkable,’ retorted Sampson; ‘for, with the
exception of that pretty chambermaid at the Pavillong dong Haw, I
haven’t seen a decent-looking woman since we left St. Mallow.’
They went down to the bridge, Sampson hobbling over the stony pathway,
and vehemently abusing the vestry and local board of Auray, which
settlement he appeared to think was governed exactly after the manner
of our English country towns.
They crossed the bridge and went to look at an old church on the
other side of the river, where the fisher folk had hung models of
three-masters and screw steamers as votary offerings to their guardian
saints; then they re-crossed the bridge and went up to an observatory
on a hill above the little town, and surveyed as much as they could
see of the landscape in the gathering winter gloom; and then Mr.
Sampson, who might possibly have been impressed by Vesuvius in a state
of eruption, but who had not a keen eye for the quaint and picturesque
on a small scale, proposed that they should go back to their hotel and
make themselves comfortable for dinner.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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