On seeing her he made a hasty gesture of vexation.
Never in his life had Vuillet felt so happy.

Since he had been able to slip his little fingers into the mail-bag he had enjoyed the most exquisite pleasure, the pleasure of an inquisitive priest about to relish the confessions of his penitents.

All the sly blabbing, all the vague chatter of sacristies resounded in his ears.

He poked his long, pale nose into the letters, gazed amorously at the superscriptions with his suspicious eyes, sounded the envelopes just like little abbes sound the souls of maidens.

He experienced endless enjoyment, was titillated by the most enticing temptation.