Marcel blushed.

--Another mystery, Veronica went on. Ah, Jesus! My God! What a lot of
mysteries there are here. Really it's worse than the Catechism. Your
letters for you only! Isn't that enough to humiliate me? You have reason
then to complain of my discretion that you tell the postman to hand your
letters to _yourself only_. Holy Virgin! it's a pretty thing. What can they
think of me then at the Post-office? They will surely say that I read your
letters before you do. Upon my word. Your letters don't matter to me. Would
they not say...? Ah, Lord Jesus. To make a poor servant suffer martyrdom in
this way?

--There you are with your recrimination again!

-Oh, Monsieur le Curé, I make no recriminations, I complain that is all: I
certainly have the right to complain; my other masters never acted in that
way with me.

--Your masters acted as they thought proper, and I also do as I wish.

--I see very well, that you don't ask advice from anyone.... And with the
insolence of a servant who has got on a footing with her master, she added:
You have gone again to the part where Durand lives? After what has
happened, are you not afraid of compromising yourself?

--Mind your own business, you silly woman, and leave me alone for once. I
consider you are very impudent in trying to scrutinize my actions.

--My business! Well, Monsieur le Curé, yours is mine just a bit, since I am
your confidante. As to being impudent, I shall never be so much as others I