whose place it took, when the last gold threads should be worn out?

Upon the chasuble La Teuse next laid out the stole, the maniple, the
girdle, alb and amice. But her tongue still wagged while she crossed the
stole with the maniple, and wreathed the girdle so as to trace the
venerated initial of Mary's holy name.

'That girdle is not up to much now,' she muttered; 'you will have to
make up your mind to get another, your reverence. It wouldn't be very
hard; I could plait you one myself if I only had some hemp.'

Abbe Mouret made no answer. He was dressing the chalice at a small
table. A large old silver-gilt chalice it was with a bronze base, which
he had just taken from the bottom of a deal cupboard, in which the
sacred vessels and linen, the Holy Oils, the Missals, candlesticks, and
crosses were kept. Across the cup he laid a clean purificator, and on
this set the silver-gilt paten, with the host in it, which he covered
with a small lawn pall. As he was hiding the chalice by gathering
together the folds in the veil of cloth of gold matching the chasuble,
La Teuse exclaimed:

'Stop, there's no corporal in the burse. Last night I took all the dirty
purificators, palls, and corporals to wash them--separately, of course
--not with the house-wash. By-the-bye, your reverence, I didn't tell
you: I have just started the house-wash. A fine fat one it will be!
Better than the last.'

Then while the priest slipped a corporal into the burse and laid the
latter on the veil, she went on quickly: