wears it as a cloak is ten thousand times the hypocrite his Catholic
brother is.

It happened that our _curé_ of Saint-Étienne was a jolly good
fellow, somewhat given to wine-bibbing, and much given to Rabelaisian
stories. He was also hail-fellow-well-met with Pierre, and Pierre, like
most of the young men of France, prided himself upon his entire freedom
from the "superstitious." Père Duhaut lived by teaching and preaching.

In France the church sacrament of marriage cannot be performed unless
both the contracting parties furnish certificates of having made
confession within three weeks. To secure his certificate it would be
necessary for Pierre to confess to the _curé_ of Saint-Étienne,
Père Duhaut.

"_I_ confess to Duhaut!" he laughed in our house. "I'll
be--what's-his-named first. Old Duhaut might as well confess to me. I
shall simply give him six francs and get my certificate without any more
ado, just as the other fellows get theirs."

That very afternoon Père Duhaut took tea with us, and Émile was mean
enough to betray Pierre's intentions.

"We'll see," said our _curé_.

The next day Pierre passed our windows. He bowed gayly, and called up
that he was going for his six francs' worth of ante-nuptial absolution.
An hour later he passed again, but he did not look up. In the evening
Père Duhaut came, bursting with laughter.