quick Luc push between me and Henri, jump into the street, and speak like
that!"

Lajeunesse looked around, as if for corroboration; Henri and others
nodded, and some one said:

"That's true; that's true. There was no cause."

"Maybe it was the drink," said a little hunchbacked man, pushing his way
in beside the Cure. "It must have been the drink; there was nothing
else--no."

The speaker was Parpon the dwarf, the oddest, in some ways the most
foolish, in others the wisest man in Pontiac.

"That is no excuse," said the Cure.

"It is the only one he has, eh?" answered Parpon. His eyes were fixed
meaningly on those of Pomfrette.

"It is no excuse," repeated the Cure sternly. "The blasphemy is
horrible, a shame and stigma upon Pontiac for ever." He looked Pomfrette
in the face. "Foul-mouthed and wicked man, it is two years since you
took the Blessed Sacrament. Last Easter day you were in a drunken sleep
while Mass was being said; after the funeral of your own father you were
drunk again. When you went away to the woods you never left a penny for
candles, nor for Masses to be said for your father's soul; yet you sold
his horse and his little house, and spent the money in drink. Not a cent
for a candle, but--"