was the first to break the silence by questioning himself aloud,
swearing horribly the while, who the deuce the pesterers could be.
My good tutor, to whom the most ordinary circumstances often
inspired admirable maxims, rose and said with unction and gravity:

"What does it matter whose hand knocks so violently at closed doors
for a vulgar, perhaps ridiculous, reason? Do not let us seek to
know, and consider them as knocking on the door of our hardened and
corrupted souls. At each knock let us say to ourselves: This one is
to give us notice to amend and think on the salvation we neglect in
the turmoil of our pleasures, that other one is to remind us of
eternity. In that way we shall draw the utmost profit out of an
incident which, after all, is as paltry as it is frivolous."

"You're humorous, abbe," said M. d'Anquetil; "to judge by the
sturdiness of their knocks, they'll burst the door open."

And as a fact the knocker resounded like thunder.

"They are robbers," exclaimed the soaked girl. "Jesus! We shall be
massacred; it is our chastisement for having sent away the little
friar. Many times I have told you. M. d'Anquetil, that misfortune
comes to houses from which a Capuchin has been driven.'

"Hear the stupid!" replied M. d'Anquetil. "That damned monk makes
her believe any imbecility he chooses to dish her up. Thieves would
be more polite, or at least more discreet. I rather think it is the
watch."

"The watch! Worse and worse," said Catherine.