lost not a word of it:

"Mon Dieu! how ridiculous these young ones are! They really seem
to take the whole thing seriously; what vulgar types! what square,
bony faces. Don't their low, stupid expressions contrast oddly
with their wings? Do you see that little chap twisting his mouth
and rolling his eyes? His air of contrition is quite edifying.
The other day he was caught stealing fagots from a neighbor. . . .
And look at that other one who has lost his wings! What an unlucky
accident! He is stooping to pick them up, and tucks them under his
arm like a cocked hat. The idea is a happy one! But thank God,
their litanies are over. It's Saint Peter's turn to sing."

For a long time Gilbert looked about him anxiously, seeking an
opportunity to escape, but the crowd was so compact that it was
impossible to make his way through it. He saw himself forced to
remain where he was and to submit, even to the end, to Stephane's
amiable soliloquy. So he pretended not to hear him, and concealed
his impatience as well as he could; but his nervousness betrayed
him in spite of himself, and to the great diversion of Stephane,
who maliciously enjoyed his own success. Fortunately for Gilbert,
when Judas had stopped singing, the procession resumed its march
towards a second station at the other end of the village, and this
caused a general movement among the bystanders who hedged his
passage. Gilbert profited by this disorder to escape, and was soon
lost in the crowd, where even Stephane's piercing eyes could not
follow him.

Hastening from the village he took the road to the woods. "This
Stephane is decidedly a nuisance," thought he. "Three weeks since