I have heard tell of sacrilegious priests, of a certain canon who has revived the sabbats of the Middle Ages." Chantelouve did not betray himself by so much as a flicker of the eyelids.

Calmly he uncrossed his legs and looking up at the ceiling he said, "Alas, certain scabby wethers succeed in stealing into the fold, but they are so rare as hardly to be worth thinking about." And he deftly changed the subject by speaking of a book he had just read about the Fronde.
Durtal, somewhat embarrassed, said nothing.

He understood that Chantelouve refused to speak of his relations with Canon Docre.
"My dear," said Mme.

Chantelouve, addressing her husband, "you have forgotten to turn up your lamp wick.

It is smoking.