And with her waxen fingers Madame Laprat-Teulet embroidered altar-frontals. “Well, madame,” said the _préfet_ to her, after the soup, “are your good works prospering? Do you know that, after Madame Cartier de Chalmot, you are the lady in the department who presides over the largest number of charities?” She made no answer. He recollected that she was deaf, and, turning towards Madame Delion: “Tell me, I beg you, madame, about Saint Anthony’s charity. It was this poor Madame Laprat-Teulet who made me think of it. My wife tells me it is a new cult that is becoming the rage in the department.” “Madame Worms-Clavelin is right, my dear sir. We are all devoted to Saint Anthony.” Then they heard M. Mauricet, in reply to a sentence lost in the noise, say to M. Delion: “You flatter me, my dear sir. The Puits-du-Roi, very much neglected since Louis XIV.’s time, is not to be compared with Valcombe for its sport. There is very little game there. Still, a poacher of rare skill, named Rivoire, who honours the Puits-du-Roi with his nocturnal visits, kills plenty of pheasants there. And you’ve no idea what an extraordinary old blunderbuss he shoots them with. It’s a specimen for a museum! I owe him thanks for having one day allowed me to examine it at leisure. Imagine a …” “I am told, madame,” said the _préfet_, “that the worshippers address their requests to Saint Anthony in a sealed paper, and that they make no payment until after the blessing demanded has been received.” “Don’t jest,” replied Madame Delion; “Saint Anthony grants many favours.” “It is,” continued M. Mauricet, “the barrel of an old musket which has been cut through and mounted on a kind of hinge, so that it rocks up and down, and …” “I thought,” replied the _préfet_, “that Saint Anthony’s speciality was finding lost articles.” “That is why,” answered Madame Delion, “so many requests are made to him.” And she added, with a sigh: “Who, in this world, has not lost a precious possession? Peace of heart, a conscience at rest, a friendship formed in childhood or … a husband’s love? It is then that one prays to Saint Anthony.” “Or to his comrade,” added the _préfet_, whom the ironmaster’s wines had elated, and who in his innocence was confusing Saint Anthony of Padua with Saint Anthony the hermit. “But,” asked M. de Terremondre, “this Rivoire is known as the poacher to the prefecture, is he not?” “You are mistaken, Monsieur de Terremondre,” replied the _préfet_. “He has a still more honourable appointment as poacher to the Archbishopric. He supplies Monseigneur’s table.” “He also consents to put his skill at the service of the court,” said President Peloux. M. Delion and Madame Cartier de Chalmot were conversing together in low tones: “My son Gustave, dear lady, is going to serve his military term this year. I should so much like him to be placed under General Cartier de Chalmot.”