'M. le Maire,' he said, 'I wish to ask you something. Is it true all
that is said about these people, I would say, these Messieurs? I do not
wish to speak with disrespect, M. le Maire.'

'What is it, Jacques, that is said?' I had called him 'thou' not out of
contempt, but because, for the moment, he seemed to me as a brother, as
one of my friends.

'M. le Maire, is it indeed _les morts_ that are in Semur?'

He trembled, and so did I. 'Jacques,' I said, 'you know all that I
know.'

'Yes, M. le Maire, it is so, sure enough. I do not doubt it. If it were
the Prussians, a man could fight. But _ces Messieurs là!_ What I want to
know is: is it because of what you did to those little Sisters, those
good little ladies of St. Jean?'

'What I did? You were yourself one of the complainants. You were of
those who said, when a man is ill, when he is suffering, they torment
him with their mass; it is quiet he wants, not their mass. These were
thy words, _vaurien_. And now you say it was I!'

'True, M. le Maire,' said Jacques; 'but look you, when a man is better,
when he has just got well, when he feels he is safe, then you should not
take what he says for gospel. It would be strange if one had a new
illness just when one is getting well of the old; and one feels now is
the time to enjoy one's self, to kick up one's heels a little, while at
least there is not likely to be much of a watch kept _up there_--the
saints forgive me,' cried Jacques, trembling and crossing himself, 'if I