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'Yes, replied Abbe Mouret. 'The last few days the girls about here were hard at work and couldn't come as usual to decorate the Lady Chapel. So the ceremony was postponed till to-night. 'A nice custom, muttered the Brother. 'When I see them all putting up their boughs I feel inclined to knock them down and make them confess their misdeeds before touching the altar.
Le Teuse hastily put out the candles, but lingered to make one last attempt to drive away the sparrows, and so when she returned to the sacristy with the Missal she no longer found Abbe Mouret there. Having washed his hands and put away the sacred vessels and vestments, he was now standing in the dining room, breakfasting off a cup of milk.
"Good-bye, monsieur; much obliged for your good dinner!" cried Jack Windy, as Monsieur Mouret kindly shook him and his companions by the hand. "We will not forget you, and be sure to give you a call, if we come this way again." The party were once more on their road. "Here, sir, the nigger servant gave us these bundles to look after," said Jack. "They're our duds, I suppose.
Now give heed Placide Captain de Mouret," for he was always particular to distinguish the man from the soldier, and in giving orders to address me by my proper title. "The war has been decided upon; you will remain here and watch developments" he was proceeding to acquaint me with what was expected of me.
In that huge rocky amphitheatre the sun kindled a furnace-like glare from the moment when the first fine weather began. By the planet's height in the sky Abbe Mouret now perceived that he had only just time to return home if he wished to get there by eleven o'clock and escape a scolding from La Teuse.
And the priest continued: She had grown much taller. She was now like a queen, with rounded form and splendid shoulders. Oh! to clasp her waist, were it only for a second, and to feel her shoulders drawn close by his embrace! But the smile on the divine countenance then paled and died away, as a star sinks and falls beneath the horizon. Abbe Mouret now spoke all alone.
But it must at least be said that in the lapses which occur in real life among the Roman priesthood, the circumstances are altogether different from those which M. Zola has selected for his story. The truth is that in 'La Faute de l'Abbe Mouret, betwixt lifelike glimpses of French rural life, the author transports us to a realm of poesy and imagination.
In defense of which I may say, I believe it was due in large part to my great respect and fondness for de la Mora, as well as a deep consciousness of the justice of his cause. From long habit I looked first to my weapons, but for once felt no joy in them. "Captain de Mouret," he greeted me with a soldier's formal courtesy. "Chevalier de la Mora."
Brother Archangias had slowly risen from his seat on the old cart. 'May the devil pile hot coals over them, and roast them! he murmured. Then without again opening his lips he accompanied Abbe Mouret to the parsonage. And he waited outside till the door was closed. Even then he did not go off without twice looking round to make sure that the Abbe was not coming out again.
Abbe Mouret, who had an affection for this dilapidated door, leaned against one of its leaves as he stood upon the steps. Thence he could survey the whole country round at a glance. And shading his eyes with his hands he scanned the horizon. In the month of May exuberant vegetation burst forth from that stony soil.
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