Part 1 (2/2)
Abbe Courteil, who had not been long in the family, and who was incredibly shy, blushed from the neck-band of his ca.s.sock to the roots of his fair hair, and stammered out in dismay:
”But, madame, when you asked if anything interesting were taking place on the terrace, I thought you meant--something--something extraordinary, and I never thought that the presence of Mademoiselle Bij--I mean, of Mademoiselle Denyse--as she always gathers her flowers there at this time every day--I never thought that you would consider that as--”
The sentence ended in an unintelligible way, whilst the abbe, very much confused, continued shaking the numbers about in the bag.
”That poor abbe,” said Bertrade de Rueille, very quietly, ”you do frighten him, grandmamma.”
”Nonsense! nothing of the kind! I do not frighten him; you exaggerate, my dear.”
And then, after a moment's reflection, Madame de Bracieux continued:
”The man must be blind then.”
”What man?”
”Why, your abbe! Good heavens, what stupid answers he makes.”
”But, grandmamma--”
”No! you will never make me believe that a man could watch Bijou at work amongst the flowers, and not consider her '_interesting to look at_!'--no, never!”
”A man, yes; but then the abbe is not exactly a man.”
”Ah! what is he then, if you please?”
”Well, a priest is not--”
”Not exactly like other men in certain respects! no, at least I hope not; but priests have eyes, I suppose, and you will grant that, if they have not eyes like those of other men, they have eyes such as a woman has, at any rate. Will you allow your abbe to have eyes like a woman?”
”Why, yes, grandmamma, I will allow him to have any kind of eyes he likes.”
”That's a good thing. Well, then, any woman looking at Bijou would perceive that she is charming. Why should an abbe not perceive that too?”
”You do not like our poor abbe.”
”Oh, well, you know my opinion. I consider that priests were made for the churches and not for our houses. Apart from that, I like your abbe as well as I do any of them. I like him--negatively; I respect him.”
Bertrade laughed, and said in her gentle voice:
”It scarcely seems like it; you are very rough on him always.”
”I am rough on him, just as I am rough on all of you.”
”Yes, but then we are accustomed to it, whilst he--”
”Oh, very well, I won't be rough on him again. I will take care; but you have no idea how tiresome it will be to me. I do like to be able to speak my mind. It was a strange notion of yours, to have an abbe for your children.”
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