of the Church to some dying person.  Some of the women, always devout, fell on their knees.  I did not go so far as this, for I do not pretend, in these days of progress, to have retained the same attitude of mind as that which it is no doubt becoming to behold in the more devout sex; but I stood respectfully out of the way, and took off my hat, as good breeding alone, if nothing else, demanded of me.  Just in front of me, however, was Jacques Richard, always a troublesome individual, standing doggedly, with his hat upon his head and his hands in his pockets, straight in the path of M. le Cure.  There is not in all France a more obstinate fellow.  He stood there, notwithstanding the efforts of a good woman to draw him away, and though I myself called to him.  M. le Cure is not the man to flinch; and as he passed, walking as usual very quickly and straight, his soutane brushed against the blouse of Jacques.  He gave one quick glance from beneath his eyebrows at the profane interruption, but he would not distract himself from his sacred errand at such a moment.  It is a sacred errand when any one, be he priest or layman, carries the best he can give to the bedside of the dying.  I said this to Jacques when M. le Cure had passed and the bell went tinkling on along the street.  ‘Jacques,’ said I, ’I do not call it impious, like this good woman, but I call it inhuman.  What! a man goes to carry help to the dying, and you show him no respect!’

This brought the colour to his face; and I think, perhaps, that he might have become ashamed of the part he had played; but the women pushed in again, as they are so fond of doing.  ’Oh, M. le Maire, he does not deserve that you should lose your words upon him!’ they cried; ’and, besides, is it likely he will pay any attention to you when he tries to stop even the bon Dieu?’

‘The bon Dieu!’ cried Jacques.  ’Why doesn’t He clear the way for himself?  Look here.  I do not care one farthing for your bon Dieu.  Here is mine; I carry him about with me.’  And he took a piece of a hundred sous out of his pocket (how had it got there?) ‘Vive l’argent’ he said.  ’You know it yourself, though you will not say so.  There is no bon Dieu but money.  With money you can do anything. L’argent c’est le bon Dieu.’

‘Be silent,’ I cried, ‘thou profane one!’ And the women were still more indignant than I.  ’We shall see, we shall see; when he is ill and would give his soul for something to wet his lips, his bon Dieu will not do much for him,’ cried one; and another said, clasping her hands with a shrill cry, ‘It is enough to make the dead rise out of their graves!’