masters' bed. Stories told in a whisper at certain _general repasts_, when
the priests of the district met together at the senior's house to observe
the feast of some saint or other--the great Saint Priapus perhaps--and
where lively talk and sprightly stories ran merrily round the table.

And what he had taken for jokes in bad taste, and refused to believe till
now, he began to understand.

For he could no longer doubt that he had set his servant's passions aflame,
and he must either expose himself to her venomous tongue and incur the
shame and scandal, or else appease the erotic rage of this kitchen
Messalina.

He tried to drive away this horrible thought, to believe that he had been
mistaken, to persuade himself that he was the dope of erroneous
appearances; he wished to convince himself that he had been the victim of
errors engendered by his own depravity, that he judged according to his
secret sentiments; his efforts were vain; the woman's feverish eyes, her
restless solicitude, her jealous rage, her incessant watching, the evidence
in short was there which contradicted all his hopes to the contrary.

And then, the latest confessions regarding his predecessors: "All have
acted like you, all," possessed his mind. Like him! What had they done?
They also had attempted then to seduce young girls, and perhaps had
consummated their infernal design. What? respectable priests, ministers of
the Gospel, pastors of God's flock! Was it possible? But was not he a
respectable priest and respected by all, a minister of God, a leader of the
holy flock, a pastor of men, and yet....

How then? where is virtue?