"You are unwilling to say anything. You distrust me. Well, that is your business.
Only, we know what we know."
Peasants pass in the road, and salute Mam'zelle Rose, with respect.
"How do you do, Mam'zelle Rose? And the captain,—is he well?"
"Very well, thank you.
He is drawing some wine just now."
Bourgeois pass in the road, and salute Mam'zelle Rose with respect.
"How do you do, Mam'zelle Rose?
And the captain?"
"Always vigorous, thank you; you are very good."
The priest passes in the road, with a slow step, wagging his head.
At the sight of Rose, he bows, smiles, closes his breviary, and stops.
"Ah! it is you, my dear child?
And the captain?"
"Thank you, Father, things are going very nicely.
The captain is busy in the cellar."
"So much the better, so much the better!
I hope that he has planted some beautiful flowers, and that next year, on Corpus Christi day, we shall have again a superb street altar."
"You may be sure of it, Father."
"All my friendships to the captain, my child."
"And the same to you, Father."
And, as he goes away, his breviary again open:
"Au revoir! au revoir!
All that a parish needs is parishioners like you."
And I go back, a little sad, a little discouraged, a little hateful, leaving this abominable Rose to enjoy her triumph, saluted by all, respected by all, fat, happy, hideously happy.
Soon, I am sure, the priest will place her in a niche in his church, between two candles, with a nimbus of gold about her, like a saint. _____
IX
October 25.
Joseph puzzles me.
His ways are really mysterious, and I do not know what goes on in this silent and furious soul.
But surely something extraordinary.
His look sometimes is difficult to endure,—so difficult that mine avoids its intimidating fixity.
He has a slow and gliding gait, that frightens me.
One would say that he was dragging a ball riveted to his ankle, or, rather, the recollection of a ball.
Is this a relic of a prison or of a convent? Both, perhaps.
His back, too, frightens me, and also his large, powerful neck, tanned by the sun till it looks like old leather, and stiffened with sinews that stretch and strain like ropes.
I have noticed on the back of his neck a collection of hard muscles that stand out in an exaggerated fashion, like those of wolves and wild beasts which have to carry heavy prey in their jaws.
Apart from his anti-Semitic craze, which indicates in Joseph a great violence and a thirst for blood, he is rather reserved concerning all matters.
It is even impossible to know what he thinks.
He has none of the swagger, and none of the professional humility, by which true domestics are to be recognized. Never a word of complaint, never the slightest disparagement of his masters.
He respects his masters, without servility, and seems to be devoted to them, without ostentation.
He does not sulk at his work, even when it is most repulsive.
He is ingenious; he knows how to do everything, even the most difficult and different things, not a part of his regular work.
He treats the Priory as if it were his own, watches it, guards it jealously, defends it.
He drives away the poor, the vagrant, and the unfortunate, sniffing and threatening like a bull-dog.
He is a type of the old-time servant, of the domestic of the days before the revolution.
Of Joseph they say in the neighborhood:
"There is nobody like him.
A pearl!"
I know that they try to get him away from the Lanlaires.