This discretion of conduct had inured to his credit.
Nonetheless, he had set two men to chattering: the porter, in the convent, and he knew the singularities of their parlor, and the grave-digger, at the cemetery, and he was acquainted with the peculiarities of their sepulture; in this way, he possessed a double light on the subject of these nuns, one as to their life, the other as to their death.
But he did not abuse his knowledge.
The congregation thought a great deal of him.
Old, lame, blind to everything, probably a little deaf into the bargain,—what qualities!
They would have found it difficult to replace him.
The goodman, with the assurance of a person who feels that he is appreciated, entered into a rather diffuse and very deep rustic harangue to the reverend prioress.
He talked a long time about his age, his infirmities, the surcharge of years counting double for him henceforth, of the increasing demands of his work, of the great size of the garden, of nights which must be passed, like the last, for instance, when he had been obliged to put straw mats over the melon beds, because of the moon, and he wound up as follows: “That he had a brother”—(the prioress made a movement),—“a brother no longer young”—(a second movement on the part of the prioress, but one expressive of reassurance),—“that, if he might be permitted, this brother would come and live with him and help him, that he was an excellent gardener, that the community would receive from him good service, better than his own; that, otherwise, if his brother were not admitted, as he, the elder, felt that his health was broken and that he was insufficient for the work, he should be obliged, greatly to his regret, to go away; and that his brother had a little daughter whom he would bring with him, who might be reared for God in the house, and who might, who knows, become a nun some day.”
When he had finished speaking, the prioress stayed the slipping of her rosary between her fingers, and said to him:—
“Could you procure a stout iron bar between now and this evening?”
“For what purpose?”
“To serve as a lever.”
“Yes, reverend Mother,” replied Fauchelevent.
The prioress, without adding a word, rose and entered the adjoining room, which was the hall of the chapter, and where the vocal mothers were probably assembled.
Fauchelevent was left alone.
CHAPTER III—MOTHER INNOCENTE
About a quarter of an hour elapsed.
The prioress returned and seated herself once more on her chair.
The two interlocutors seemed preoccupied.
We will present a stenographic report of the dialogue which then ensued, to the best of our ability.
“Father Fauvent!”
“Reverend Mother!”
“Do you know the chapel?”
“I have a little cage there, where I hear the mass and the offices.”
“And you have been in the choir in pursuance of your duties?”
“Two or three times.”
“There is a stone to be raised.”
“Heavy?”
“The slab of the pavement which is at the side of the altar.”
“The slab which closes the vault?”
“Yes.”
“It would be a good thing to have two men for it.”
“Mother Ascension, who is as strong as a man, will help you.”
“A woman is never a man.”
“We have only a woman here to help you.
Each one does what he can.
Because Dom Mabillon gives four hundred and seventeen epistles of Saint Bernard, while Merlonus Horstius only gives three hundred and sixty-seven, I do not despise Merlonus Horstius.”
“Neither do I.”
“Merit consists in working according to one’s strength.
A cloister is not a dock-yard.”
“And a woman is not a man.
But my brother is the strong one, though!”
“And can you get a lever?”
“That is the only sort of key that fits that sort of door.”
“There is a ring in the stone.”
“I will put the lever through it.”
“And the stone is so arranged that it swings on a pivot.”
“That is good, reverend Mother. I will open the vault.”
“And the four Mother Precentors will help you.”
“And when the vault is open?”