"Don't let us argue about state affairs here," said the general, laughing."All this, my dear, merely means that Sibilet, in his capacity of financier, is timid and cowardly, while the minister of war is brave and, like his general, fears nothing."
"Call me prudent, Monsieur le comte," interposed Sibilet.
"Well, well!" cried Blondet, laughing, "so here we are, like Cooper's heroes in the forests of America, in the midst of sieges and savages."
"Come, gentlemen, it is your business to govern without letting me hear the wheels of the administration," said Madame de Montcornet.
"Ah! madame," said the cure, "but it may be right that you should know the toil from which those pretty caps you wear are derived."
"Well, then, I can go without them," replied the countess, laughing.
"I will be very respectful to a twenty-franc piece, and grow as miserly as the country people themselves.Come, my dear abbe, give me your arm.Leave the general with his two ministers, and let us go to the gate of the Avonne to see Madame Michaud, for I have not had time since my arrival to pay her a visit, and I want to inquire about my little protegee."
And the pretty woman, already forgetting the rags and tatters of Mouche and Fourchon, and their eyes full of hatred, and Sibilet's warnings, went to have herself made ready for the walk.
The abbe and Blondet obeyed the behest of the mistress of the house and followed her from the dining-room, waiting till she was ready on the terrace before the chateau.
"What do you think of all this?" said Blondet to the abbe.
"I am a pariah; they dog me as they would a common enemy.I am forced to keep my eyes and ears perpetually open to escape the traps they are constantly laying to get me out of the place," replied the abbe."I am even doubtful, between ourselves, as to whether they will not shoot me."
"Why do you stay?" said Blondet.
"We can't desert God's cause any more than that of an emperor,"
replied the priest, with a simplicity that affected Blondet.He took the abbe's hand and shook it cordially.
"You see how it is, therefore, that I know very little of the plots that are going on," continued the abbe."Still, I know enough to feel sure that the general is under what in Artois and in Belgium is called an 'evil grudge.'"
A few words are here necessary about the curate of Blangy.
This priest, the fourth son of a worthy middle-class family of Autun, was an intelligent man carrying his head high in his collar.Small and slight, he redeemed his rather puny appearance by the precise and carefully dressed air that belongs to Burgundians.He accepted the second-rate post of Blangy out of pure devotion, for his religious convictions were joined to political opinions that were equally strong.There was something of the priest of the olden time about him;
he held to the Church and to the clergy passionately; saw the bearings of things, and no selfishness marred his one ambition, which was TO
SERVE.That was his motto,--to serve the Church and the monarchy wherever it was most threatened; to serve in the lowest rank like a soldier who feels that he is destined, sooner or later, to attain command through courage and the resolve to do his duty.He made no compromises with his vows of chastity, and poverty, and obedience; he fulfilled them, as he did the other duties of his position, with that simplicity and cheerful good-humor which are the sure indications of an honest heart, constrained to do right by natural impulses as much as by the power and consistency of religious convictions.
The priest had seen at first sight Blondet's attachment to the countess; he saw that between a Troisville and a monarchical journalist he could safely show himself to be a man of broad intelligence, because his calling was certain to be respected.He usually came to the chateau very evening to make the fourth at a game of whist.The journalist, able to recognize the abbe's real merits, showed him so much deference that the pair grew into sympathy with each other; as usually happens when men of intelligence meet their equals, or, if you prefer it, the ears that are able to hear them.
Swords are fond of their scabbards.
"But to what do you attribute this state of things, Monsieur l'abbe, you who are able, through your disinterestedness, to look over the heads of things?"
