For there was no doubt about it, the abbé was, alas, the most calumniated priest of Seine-et-Oise. All the parties hated him! They all rivaled in ill-using him, in bringing him into discredit. Under the pretext that he was sought for at the neighboring châteaux--that of Mme. Chambannes, for instance, the Château des Frettes--the radicals of the region accused him before the prefect of carrying on a reactionary propaganda. On the other hand, anonymous denunciations poured in at the bishop's palace, and they bore the clerical hall-mark. They asserted that the abbé Touronde compromised daily--here the abbé's voice was lowered and became confidential--the supereminent dignity of his cloth in worldly frivolity and association with heretics. "Heretics!" the priest repeated with indignation. "Hah! can I pick and choose? Can I ask the donors for their regular baptism certificate? Should I decline the money of the Israelites who help me bring up my children?... Poor little things! Were it not for them, Heaven knows that the world, mundane frivolities, would not see much of me...." He paused suddenly, as if he had heard the voice of his own conscience: "Yes, yes, Bastien Touronde, you would still go there, because you enjoy good dinners, the sight of pretty women, luxury and comfort, and also because in the midst of this society, which knows little of dogmas, you are aware that your presence among the temptations causes much less scandal than it would elsewhere...." And the abbé's lips whispered softly, as they did on his visits to the bishop, when Monseigneur blamed him for his worldly behavior: "Non culpabiliter! non culpabiliter!" "I beg your pardon?" said M. Raindal, who had listened only with half an ear to these long complaints. The abbé Touronde started. "I was thinking of these bad men, dear master. In my own mind I was abusing them.... You know, we of the South, we are warm-blooded and our tongue is not always sufficiently Christian!..." The return of Mme. Chambannes, followed by her Uncle and Aunt Panhias, brought the dialogue to an end. The introductions were made. Panhias was in evening clothes with a black tie. His head hung down, like that of a thinker, but the expression was that of a gray-headed bookkeeper. His gait, the way he stood and the folds of his bearded face showed the fatigue of one of those office clerks to whom money has come too late. Mme. Panhias, on the other hand, seemed optimistic and jovial. She wore a brown silk dress tightly stretched around her ample shape. She rolled her _r_'s more than Mme. Chambannes did, and only a connoisseur could have perceived the Oriental in her, through her semi-Spanish, semi-South-American accent. A few minutes later Gerald and, behind him, George Chambannes entered the smoking-room. Both were in evening dress. Instinctively M. Raindal lowered his eyes to examine his own frock coat. The butler announced that Madame was served and the party went into the dining-room.