off, and the lock broken.

'It ought to be repaired,' said he.

Abbe Mouret smiled, but made no reply. Addressing Vincent, who was
romping with the dog: 'I say, my boy,' he asked, 'do you know where old
Bambousse is at work this morning?'

The lad glanced towards the horizon. 'He must be at his Olivettes field
now,' he answered, pointing towards the left. 'But Voriau will show your
reverence the way. He's sure to know where his master is.' And he
clapped his hands and called: 'Hie! Voriau! hie!'

The big black dog paused a moment, wagging his tail, and seeking to read
the urchin's eyes. Then, barking joyfully, he set off down the slope to
the village. Abbe Mouret and Brother Archangias followed him, chatting.
A hundred yards further Vincent surreptitiously bolted, and again glided
up towards the church, keeping a watchful eye upon them, and ready to
dart behind a bush if they should look round. With adder-like
suppleness, he once more glided into the graveyard, that paradise full
of lizards, nests, and flowers.

Meantime, while Voriau led the way before them along the dusty road,
Brother Archangias was angrily saying to the priest: 'Let be! Monsieur
le Cure, they're spawn of damnation, those toads are! They ought to have
their backs broken, to make them pleasing to God. They grow up in
irreligion, like their fathers. Fifteen years have I been here, and not
one Christian have I been able to turn out. The minute they quit my
hands, good-bye! They think of nothing but their land, their vines,
their olive-trees. Not one ever sets foot in church. Brute beasts they