The Conquest of Plassans (Les Rougon-Macquart Book 4) by Émile Zola Read Free Book Online

children, her sleepy contentment contained in this small corner of the earth.
    ‘And do you know who this priest is?’ she enquired.
    ‘No, but Abbé Bourrette has rented it in his name and that’s sufficient. Abbé Bourrette is a good fellow… I know that our tenant’s name is Faujas, Abbé Faujas, and that he comes from the diocese of Besançon. * He must have had some difference with his parish priest. They’ll have appointed him priest here in Saint-Saturnin. * Perhaps he knows our bishop, Monsignor Rousselot. Well anyway, that’s none of our business… I trust Abbé Bourrette in all this.’
    Marthe, however, was not reassured. She held her ground against her husband, and that was a rare occurrence.
    ‘You are right,’ she said, after a short silence. ‘The abbé is a worthy man. But I remember that when he came to see the rooms he told me he didn’t know the person in whose name he was charged to find accommodation for rent. It’s one of those commissions that priests give one another, from one town to the next… I think you might have written to Besançon for more details to find out who it is you are intending to have in your house.’
    Mouret refused to lose his temper; he laughed indulgently.
    ‘Well, I daresay it’s not the devil… Look at you trembling like that! I didn’t realize you were so superstitious. You surely don’t believe priests bring bad luck, as some say. It’s true they don’t bring good luck either. They are just the same as everyone else… Oh well, once the priest is here you’ll see whether I’m scared of his cassock or not!’
    ‘No, you know I’m not superstitious,’ Marthe replied softly. ‘But I’m very uneasy, that’s all.’
    He stood facing her, interrupting her with a brusque gesture.
    ‘That’s enough, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘I’ve rented out the room, and let that be the end of it.’
    And he added jokingly, in the tone of a bourgeois who believes he has clinched a good deal:
    ‘What’s certain is that I’ve let it for a hundred and fifty francs, and that’ll come into the household every year.’
    Marthe had lowered her head, showing her displeasure only by a slight movement of the hands, and shutting her eyes very gently, as though to prevent the unshed tears from spilling over.
    She cast a furtive look at her children who during the altercation she had just had with their father did not seem to be listening, no doubt because they were used to Mouret showing off his sardonic side in scenes like this.
    ‘You can come and eat now if you want to,’ grumbled Rose, going out on to the steps.
    ‘That’s good. Supper, children!’ Mouret cried gaily, apparently no longer in the slightest bad mood.
    The family rose. But when Désirée, who had remained solemn until now, like the poor little innocent she was, saw the whole family get up, it seemed to rekindle her anxiety. She threw herself on her father, stammering:
    ‘Papa, one of my birds has flown away.’
    ‘A bird, my love? We’ll get it back.’
    And he stroked her and became very affectionate with her. But she made him go and look at the cage as well. When he came back with his daughter, Marthe and his two sons were already in the dining room. The setting sun’s rays through the window showed off the pretty china plates, the children’s soup bowls, their tumblers, and the white tablecloth. The room was warm and quiet as the green hues in the garden faded into the darkness.
    Marthe, comforted by this peaceful scene, was smilingly taking the lid off the soup tureen, when there was a noise in the hall. Rose, in a great state of agitation, ran in, stammering:
    ‘Abbé Faujas has arrived.’

CHAPTER 2
    M OURET made a gesture of annoyance. He really wasn’t expecting his tenant for another two days at the earliest. He got up quickly as Abbé Faujas appeared in the doorway to the passage. He was a tall, strong man with a wide, square face, and a sallow complexion. Behind him, in his