"Speaking of Germain, here is another strange thing.'"
"In order to have him set at liberty, the governor has declared it was he himself who made an error in his accounts, and that he had found the money which he accused Germain of stealing."
"I do not find this strange, but just; you recollect I always said that Germain was incapable of theft."
"It must, nevertheless, have been very disagreeable for him to be arrested and confined as a thief."
"If I were in his place I would sue Jacques Ferrand for damages."
"The least he could do would be to reinstate him as cashier, in order to prove that Germain was not culpable."
"Yes, but perhaps Germain would not be willing."
"Is he still at the farm, where he went on coming out of prison, and from which he wrote us to announce M. Ferrand's discontinuance of the suit?"
"Probably, for yesterday I went to the place where he directed us to go; they told me that he was still in the country, and that I could write to him at Bouqueval, near Ecouen, at Madame George's."
"Oh! a carriage!" said Chalamel, leaning over toward the window.
"This gutter-jumper is indecently sensitive at his age; he only thinks of women. We shall have to chain him up, or he will carry off the Sabines from the streets; for, as said the Swan of Cambray in his Treatise on Education for the Dauphin,
"'Of Gutter-jumper have a care, Who assaults the lovely fair.'"
"M. Chalamel, you said a black robe, I thought."
"It is the curé, goose! Let him be an example for you."
"The curé of the parish? The good pastor?"
"I think not; and if all the priests were like him everybody would be devout."
And all the clerks, bending over their desks, began to scratch away with apparent industry, making their pens pass rapidly over the paper. The pale face of this priest was at once mild and grave, intelligent and venerable, its expression full of benevolence and serenity. A small black cap concealed his tonsure, and his long gray hair floated on the collar of his maroon-colored coat. Let us add that, from his simple credulity, this excellent priest had always been, and was still, the dupe of Jacques Ferrand's deep and cunning hypocrisy.
"Your worthy master is in his cabinet, my son?" asked the curé.