He made no reply, bestriding a chair and galloping round the table on it.

‘Well! well! go on making a baby of yourself!’ said the old woman; ’and, my gracious, what a big baby you are!  If the Lord is looking at you, He must be very well pleased with you!’

The Brother had just slipped off the chair and was lying on the floor, with his legs in the air.

’He does see me, and is pleased to see me as I am.  It is His wish that I should be gay.  When He wishes me to be merry for a time, He rings a bell in my body, and then I begin to roll about; and all Paradise smiles as it watches me.’

He dragged himself on his back to the wall, and then, supporting himself on the nape of his neck, he hoisted up his body as high as he could and began drumming on the wall with his heels.  His cassock slipped down and exposed to view his black breeches, which were patched at the knees with green cloth.

‘Look, Monsieur le Cure,’ he said, ’you see how high I can reach with my heels.  I dare bet that you couldn’t do as much.  Come! look amused and laugh a little.  It is better to drag oneself along on one’s back than to think about a hussy as you are always doing.  You know what I mean.  For my part, when I take to scratching myself I imagine myself to be God’s dog, and that’s what makes me say that all Paradise looks out of the windows to smile at me.  You might just as well laugh too, Monsieur le Cure.  It’s all done for the saints and you.  See! here’s a turn-over for Saint Joseph; here’s another for Saint Michael, and another for Saint John, and another for Saint Mark, and another for Saint Matthew——­’

So he went on, enumerating a whole string of saints, and turning somersaults all round the room.

Abbe Mouret, who had been sitting in perfect silence, with his hands resting on the edge of the table, was at last constrained to smile.  As a rule, the Brother’s sportiveness only disquieted him.  La Teuse, as Archangias rolled within her reach, kicked at him with her foot.

‘Come!’ she said, ‘are we to have our game to-night?’

His only reply was a grunt.  Then, upon all fours, he sprang towards La Teuse as if he meant to bite her.  But in lieu thereof he spat upon her petticoats.

‘Let me alone! will you?’ she cried.  ’What are you up to now?  I begin to think you have gone crazy.  What it is that amuses you so much I can’t conceive.’

‘What makes me gay is my own affair,’ he replied, rising to his feet and shaking himself.  ’It is not necessary to explain it to you, La Teuse.  However, as you want a game of cards, let us have it.’