Although both he and his wife were Catholics (so they said, and so it
seemed), Kilquhanity never went to Confession or took the Blessed
Sacrament. The Cure spoke to Kilquhanity's wife about it, and she said
she could do nothing with her husband. Her tongue once loosed, she spoke
freely, and what she said was little to the credit of Kilquhanity. Not
that she could urge any horrible things against him; but she railed at
minor faults till the Cure dismissed her with some good advice upon wives
rehearsing their husband's faults, even to the parish priest.

Mrs. Kilquhanity could not get the Cure to listen to her, but she was
more successful elsewhere. One day she came to get Kilquhanity's
pension, which was sent every three months through M. Garon, the Avocat.
After she had handed over the receipt prepared beforehand by Kilquhanity,
she replied to M. Garon's inquiry concerning her husband in these words:
"Misther Garon, sir, such a man it is--enough to break the heart of anny
woman. And the timper of him--Misther Garon, the timper of him's that
awful, awful! No conshideration, and that ugly-hearted, got whin a
soldier b'y! The things he does--my, my, the things be does!" She threw
up her hands with an air of distraction.

"Well, and what does he do, Madame?" asked the Avocat simply.

"An' what he says, too--the awful of it! Ah, the bad sour heart in him!
What's he lyin' in his bed for now--an' the New Year comin' on, whin we
ought to be praisin' God an' enjoyin' each other's company in this
blessed wurruld? What's he lying betune the quilts now fur, but by token
of the bad heart in him! It's a wicked could he has, an' how did he come
by it? I'll tell ye, Misther Garon. So wild was he, yesterday it was a
week, so black mad wid somethin' I'd said to him and somethin' that
shlipped from me hand at his head, that he turns his back on me, throws