"He said what I know is not true," said Raymond simply. "He said you would make a fool of me."
"Ah, he said that!"--she jerked her head forward again sharply. "Well, Monsieur Dupont is wrong, and you are right. I would not do that, because I could not--since you have already made one of yourself! Ha, ha! Old Mother Blondin upon her _honour!_ Ha, ha! It is a long while since I have heard that--and from a priest--ha, ha! How could any one make a fool of a fool!" Her voice was high-pitched again, fighting for its defiance; but, somehow, where she strove to infuse venom, there seemed only a pathetic wistfulness instead. "And so you would trust old Mother Blondin--eh? Well"--she slammed the door suddenly in his face, and her voice came muffled through the panels--"well, you are a fool!"
The bolt within rasped into place--and Raymond, turned away, and began to descend the hill.
Mother Blondin for the moment was in the grip of a sullen pride that bade her rise in arms against this fresh outlook on life; but Mother Blondin would close and bolt yet another door, unless he was very much mistaken--the rear door, and in the faces of her erstwhile and unhallowed clientele!
Yes, he had pity for the old woman who had no kin now, and who had no friends. Pity! He owed her more than that! So then--there came a sudden thought--so then, why not? He would not long be curé of St. Marleau, but while he was--well, he was the curé of St. Marleau! He could not remove the ban of excommunication, that was beyond the authority of a mere curé, it would require at least Monsignor the Bishop to do that; but he could remove the ban--of ostracism! Yes, decidedly, the good, young Father Aubert could do that! He was vaguely conscious that there were degrees of excommunication, and he seemed to remember that Valérie had said it was but a minor one that had been laid upon Mother Blondin, and that the villagers of their own accord had drawn more and more aloof. It would, therefore, not be very difficult.
He quickened his step, and, reaching the bottom of the hill, made his way at once toward the carpenter shop. He could see Madame Bouchard hoeing in the little garden patch between the road and the front of the shop. It was Madame Bouchard that he now desired to see.