The Merouls, greatly put out, attempted to divert his thoughts. The cure left very early. Then the husband gently remarked: "You went a little too far with that priest." But Joseph immediately replied: "That's a very good joke, too! Am I to bother my brains about a devil-dodger? At any rate, do me the favor of not ever again having such an old fogy to dinner. Curses on his impudence!" "But, my friend, remember his sacred character." Joseph Mouradour interrupted him: "Yes, I know. We must treat them like girls, who get roses for being well behaved! That's all right, my boy! When these people respect my convictions, I will respect theirs!" This was all that happened that day. Next morning, Madame de Meroul, on entering her drawing-room, saw lying on the table three newspapers which made her draw back in horror. "Le Voltaire," "Le Republique Francaise," and "La Justice." Presently, Joseph Mouradour, still in his blue blouse, appeared on the threshold, reading "L'Intransigeant" attentively. He exclaimed: "There is a splendid article by Rochefort. This fellow is marvelous." He read the article in a loud voice, laying so much stress on its most striking passages that he did not notice the entrance of his friend. M. de Meroul had a paper in each hand. "Le Gaulois" for himself and "Le Clarion" for his wife. The ardent prose of the master-writer who overthrew the empire, violently declaimed, recited in the accent of the South, rang through the peaceful drawing-room, shook the old curtains with their rigid folds, seemed to splash the walls, the large upholstered chairs, the solemn furniture fixed in the same position for the past century, with a hail of words, rebounding, impudent, ironical and crushing. The husband and the wife, the one standing, the other seated, listened in a state of stupor, so scandalized that they no longer even ventured to make a gesture. Mouradour launched out the concluding passage in the article as one lets forth a jet of fireworks, then in an emphatic tone remarked: "That's a stinger, eh?" But suddenly he perceived the two prints belonging to his friend, and he seemed himself for a moment overcome with astonishment. Then, he came across to his host with great strides, demanding in angry tone: "What do you want to do with these papers?" M. de Meroul replied in a hesitating voice: "Why, these--these are my--my newspapers." "Your newspapers! Look here, now, you are only laughing at me! You will do me the favor to read mine, to stir you up with a few new ideas, and, as for yours--this is what I do with them--" And before his host, filled with confusion, could prevent him, he seized the two newspapers and flung them out through the window. Then he gravely placed "La Justice" in the hands of Madame de Meroul and "Le Voltaire" in those of her husband, and he sank into an armchair to finish "L'Intransigeant."