The Celibates

rascal; but we are no longer at the mercy of your vagaries. As for you, if you accept the deed, you will have put your foot in it; it will be a confession of complicity.”)

There was a brief silence.

“Mademoiselle Gamard’s temporal affairs are no concern of mine,” said the priest at length, closing the deep lids over his eagle eyes to conceal his excitement. (“Ah, ha, you will not catch me tripping! But God he praised, those cursed lawyers will not fight out a case that might bespatter me! But what on earth can the Listomères want, that they are so humble?”)

“Monsieur,” replied the Baronne, “the concerns of Monsieur l’Abbé Birotteau interest me no more than those of Mademoiselle Gamard do you. But, unluckily, religion might suffer from their quarrels, and in you I see but a mediator, while I myself come forward as a peacemaker⁠ ⁠…” (“We can neither of us throw dust in the other’s eyes. Monsieur Troubert,” thought she. “Do you appreciate the epigram in that reply?”)

“Religion! madame,” said the Vicar-General. “Religion stands too high for man to touch it.” (“Religion means me,” thought he.) “God will judge us unerringly, madame,” he added, “and I recognize no other tribunal.”

“Well, then, monsieur,” replied she, “let us try to make man’s judgments agree with God’s.” (“Yes, Religion means you.”)

The Abbé Troubert changed his tone.

“Has not Monsieur your nephew just been to Paris?” (“You heard of me there, I fancy,” thought he; “I can crush you⁠—you who scorned me! You have come to surrender.”)

“Yes, monsieur, thank you for taking so much interest in him. He is returning to Paris tonight, ordered there by the Minister, who is kindness itself to us, and does not wish him to retire from the service.” (“No, Jesuit, you will not crush us,” thought she; “we understand your little game.”) A pause. “I have not approved of his conduct in this affair,” she went on, “but a sailor may be forgiven for not understanding the law.” (“Come, let us be allies,” thought she; “we shall gain nothing by squabbling.”)

A faint smile dawned, and was lost, in the furrows of the Abbé’s face.

“He has done us some service by informing us of the value of those two pictures,” said he, looking at them; “they will be a worthy ornament to the Lady Chapel.” (“You fired an epigram at me, madame” thought he; “there are two for you, and we are quits.”)

“If you present them to Saint-Gatien, I would beg you to allow me to offer to the Church two frames worthy of the place and of the gift.” (“I should like to make you confess that you coveted Birotteau’s property,” thought she.)

“They do not belong to me,” said the priest, well on his guard.

“Well, here is the deed that puts an end to all dispute,” said Madame de Listomère, “and restores them to Mademoiselle Gamard.” She laid the document on the table. (“You see, monsieur, how much I trust you,” thought she.) “It is worthy of you, monsieur, worthy of your fine character, to reconcile two Christians, though I have ceased to take much interest in Monsieur Birotteau.”

“But he is your pensioner,” said he, interrupting her.

“No, monsieur, he is no longer under my roof.” (“My brother-in-law’s peerage and my nephew’s promotion are leading me into very mean actions,” thought she.)

The Abbé remained unmoved, but his calm aspect was a symptom of violent agitation. Only Monsieur de Bourbonne had divined the secret of that superficial calm. The priest was triumphant.

“Why, then, did you take charge of his act of renunciation?” he asked, moved by a feeling similar to that which makes a woman fish for compliments.

“I could not help feeling some pity for him. Birotteau, whose feeble character must be well known to you, entreated me to see Mademoiselle Gamard in order to obtain from her, as the price of the surrender of,” the Abbé frowned⁠—“of his rights, as recognized by many distinguished lawyers, the portrait⁠—” the priest looked hard at Madame de Listomère⁠—“of Chapeloud,” she said. “I leave it to you to judge of his claim to it⁠ ⁠…” (“You would lose if you fought the case,” thought she.)

The tone in which the Baroness uttered the words “distinguished lawyers,” showed the priest that she knew the enemy’s strength and weakness. Madame de Listomère displayed so much skill to this experienced connoisseur, that at the end of this conversation, which was carried on for some time in the same key, he went down to see Mademoiselle Gamard to bring her answer as to the proposed bargain.

Troubert soon returned.

“Madame,” said he, “I can but repeat the poor dying woman’s words. ‘Monsieur l’Abbé Chapeloud showed me too much kindness,’ said she, ‘for me to part from his portrait.’⁠—As for myself, if it were mine, I would not give it up to anyone. I was too faithfully attached to my poor dead friend not to feel that I have a right to claim his likeness against anybody in the world.”

“Well, monsieur, do not let us fall out over a bad picture.” (“I care for it more than you do” thought she.) “Keep it; we will have it copied. I am proud to have brought this sad and deplorable lawsuit to an end, and I have personally gained the pleasure of making your acquaintance.⁠—I have heard that you are a fine whist player. You will forgive a woman for being curious,” she added with a smile. “If you will come and play occasionally at my house, you cannot doubt that you will be heartily welcomed.”

The Abbé Troubert stroked his chin. (“He is caught; Bourbonne was right,” thought she, “he has his share of vanity.”)

In fact, the Vicar-General was at this moment enjoying the delicious sensation which Mirabeau found irresistible when, in the day of his power, he saw the gates of some mansion which had formerly been closed against him, opened to admit his carriage.

“Madame,” replied he, “my occupations are too important to allow of my going into society; but for you what