"Ask Pierre how he got his certificate," he guffawed. Then he told us
the story. Pierre, it seems, had offered the six francs, which offer the
confessor had rejected with scorn.

"In to the confessional," he cried, "and make your confession like a
penitent!"

"I'll make it fifteen," grinned Pierre.

"Not for a thousand. In! _in_!"

"Come, now, Duhaut, this is all humbug. You know I'm not penitent, and
I'll be---- if I'll confess to you."

Without more words, the burly priest seized the recalcitrant and grabbed
him by the neck, trying to force him into the confession-box. Pierre
resisted, and, as the _curé_ told us bursting with laughter, the
two wrestled and waltzed half around the church. Finally Pierre was
brought to his knees.

"_Eh bien, allez_! What am I to confess?" he grumbled.

"Every sin you have committed since your last confession."

How malicious was Père Duhaut in this! for he knew Pierre had not kept
the observances of the Church since he left home at seventeen, and had
not been an anchorite either.

"I'll make it an even hundred," begged the now exasperated yet humbled
Pierre. "Come, now, do be reasonable; that's a jolly old boy."