Then, as Abbe Mouret, whose head remained bowed, did not open his mouth, he went on:  ’Religion is leaving the country districts because it is made over indulgent.  It was respected when it spoke out like an unforgiving mistress.  I really don’t know what they can teach you now in the seminaries.  The new priests weep like children with their parishioners.  God no longer seems the same.  I dare say, Monsieur le Cure, that you don’t even know your catechism by heart now?’

But the priest, wounded by the imperiousness with which the Brother so roughly sought to dominate him, looked up and dryly rejoined: 

’That will do, your zeal is very praiseworthy.  But haven’t you something to tell me?  You came to the parsonage this morning, did you not?’

Thereupon Brother Archangias plumply answered:  ’I had to tell you just what I have told you.  The Artauds live like pigs.  Only yesterday I learned that Rosalie, old Bambousse’s eldest daughter, is in the family way.  It happens with all of them before they get married.  And they simply laugh at reproaches, as you know.’

‘Yes,’ murmured Abbe Mouret, ’it is a great scandal.  I am just on my way to see old Bambousse to speak to him about it; it is desirable that they should be married as soon as possible.  The child’s father, it seems, is Fortune, the Brichets’ eldest son.  Unfortunately the Brichets are poor.’

‘That Rosalie, now,’ continued the Brother, ’is just eighteen.  Not four years since I still had her under me at school, and she was already a gadabout.  I have now got her sister Catherine, a chit of eleven, who seems likely to become even worse than her elder.  One comes across her in every corner with that little scamp, Vincent.  It’s no good, you may pull their ears till they bleed, the woman always crops up in them.  They carry perdition about with them and are only fit to be thrown on a muck-heap.  What a splendid riddance if all girls were strangled at their birth!’

His loathing, his hatred of woman made him swear like a carter.  Abbe Mouret, who had been listening to him with unmoved countenance, smiled at last at his rabid utterances.  He called Voriau, who had strayed into a field close by.

‘There, look there!’ cried Brother Archangias, pointing to a group of children playing at the bottom of a ravine, ’there are my young devils, who play the truant under pretence of going to help their parents among the vines!  You may be certain that jade of a Catherine is among them. . . .  There, didn’t I tell you!  Till to-night, Monsieur le Cure.  Oh, just you wait, you rascals!’

Off he went at a run, his dirty neckband flying over his shoulder, and his big greasy cassock tearing up the thistles.  Abbe Mouret watched him swoop down into the midst of the children, who scattered like frightened sparrows.  But he succeeded in seizing Catherine and one boy by the ears and led them back towards the village, clutching them tightly with his big hairy fingers, and overwhelming them with abuse.