Like most peasants, he is extremely distrustful, and avoids trusting himself to others, for he thinks that they are planning to "take him in."
He must be in possession of numerous secrets, but he hides them jealously, under a severe, scowling, and brutal mask, as one locks treasures in a strong-box equipped with solid bars and mysterious bolts.
However, his distrust of me is lessening.
He is charming toward me, in his way.
He does all that he can to show his friendship for me, and to please me.
He relieves me of my most painful duties; takes upon himself the heavy work that is given me to do; and all without roguishness, without any underlying gallantry, without seeking to provoke my gratitude, without trying to get any profit from it whatsoever.
On my side, I keep his affairs in order, mend his stockings and his pantaloons, patch his shirts, and arrange his closet with much more care and coquetry than I do Madame's.
And he says to me, with a look of satisfaction:
"That is very well, Celestine.
You are a good woman,—an orderly woman.
Order, you see, means fortune.
And, when one is pretty besides,—when one is a beautiful woman, there is nothing better."
Hitherto we have talked together only for brief moments.
At night, in the kitchen, with Marianne, the conversation has to be general.
No intimacy is permissible between us two.
And, when I see him alone, nothing is more difficult than to make him talk.
He refuses all long conversations, fearing, undoubtedly, to compromise himself.
A word here, a word there, amiable or crusty, and that is all. But his eyes speak, though his lips are silent. And they prowl around me, and they envelop me, and they descend into me, into my very depths, in order to turn my soul inside out and see what is in it.
For the first time we had a long talk yesterday. It was at night.
The masters had gone to bed; Marianne had gone to her room earlier than usual.
Not feeling disposed to read or write, it was tiresome for me to remain alone.
Still obsessed by the image of the little Claire, I went to find Joseph in the harness-room, where, seated at a little white-wood table, he was sorting seeds by the light of a dark lantern.
His friend, the sacristan, was there, standing near him, holding under his two arms packages of little pamphlets, red, green, blue, tricolor.
With big round eyes surpassing the arch of the eyebrows, flattened skull, and wrinkled, yellow, and cross-grained skin, he looked like a toad.
He had also the bounding heaviness of a toad.
Under the table the two dogs, rolled into a ball, were sleeping, with their heads buried in their shaggy skins.
"Ah! it is you, Celestine?" exclaimed Joseph.
The sacristan tried to hide his pamphlets, but Joseph reassured him.
"We can talk before Mademoiselle.
She is an orderly woman."
And he gave him directions.
"So, old man, it is understood, isn't it?
At Bazoches, at Courtain, at Fleur-sur-Tille. And let them be distributed to-morrow, in the day-time. And try to get subscriptions. And let me tell you again; go everywhere, into all the houses,—even the houses of republicans. Perhaps they will show you the door, but that makes no difference.
Keep right on.
If you win one of these dirty pigs, it is always so much gained.
And then, remember that you get five francs for every republican."
The sacristan nodded his head approvingly.
Having tucked the pamphlets under his arms, he started off, Joseph accompanying him as far as the iron fence.
When the latter returned, he noticed my curious face, my inquisitive eyes.
"Yes," he said, carelessly, "some songs, and some pictures, and some pamphlets against the Jews, which are being distributed for propagandism.
I have made an arrangement with the priests; I work for them.
It is in the line of my own ideas, surely; but I must say also that I am well paid."
He sat down again at the little table where he was sorting his seeds.
The two dogs, awakened, took a turn about the room, and went to lie down again farther off.
"Yes, yes," he repeated,
"I get good pay. Oh! the priests have money enough."
And, as if fearing that he had said too much, he added:
"I tell you this, Celestine, because you are a good woman and an orderly woman, and because I have confidence in you. It is between ourselves, you know."
After a silence:
"What a good idea it was of yours to come out here to-night!" he thanked me; "it is very nice of you; it flatters me."