With his frock-coat tightly girding him in military fashion, he was, as usual, leaning on his silver-knobbed walking-stick, slightly dragging his left leg, which his second attack of paralysis had stiffened.

And his face reddened and his eyes flashed with anger when La Grivotte, pushing him aside in order that she might pass, repeated amidst the wild enthusiasm of the crowd, "I am cured, I am cured!" "Well!" he cried, seized with sudden fury, "so much the worse for you, my girl!" Exclamations arose, folks began to laugh, for he was well known, and his maniacal passion for death was forgiven him.

However, when he began stammering confused words, saying that it was pitiful to desire life when one was possessed of neither beauty nor fortune, and that this girl ought to have preferred to die at once rather than suffer again, people began to growl around him, and Abbe Judaine, who was passing, had to extricate him from his trouble.

The priest drew him away.

"Be quiet, my friend, be quiet," he said.