"Enough," said the priest, sternly, "enough." Then, knowing by
experience that his voice had not the power to check her flood of
reproaches, he took her by the arm and led her out into the passage.

M. de Sairmeuse and his son exchanged a glance of consternation.

Was this a comedy that had been prepared for their benefit? Evidently
not, since their arrival had not been expected.

But the priest, whose character had been so plainly revealed by this
quarrel with his domestic, was not a man to their taste.

At least, he was evidently not the man they had hoped to find--not the
auxiliary whose assistance was indispensable to the success of their
plans.

Yet they did not exchange a word; they listened.

They heard the sound as of a discussion in the passage. The master spoke
in low tones, but with an unmistakable accent of command; the servant
uttered an astonished exclamation.

But the listeners could not distinguish a word.

Soon the priest re-entered the apartment.

"I hope, gentlemen," he said, with a dignity that could not fail to
check any attempt at raillery, "that you will excuse this ridiculous
scene. The cure of Sairmeuse, thank God! is not so poor as she says."