"Indeed!" muttered Mamzelle Adélaïde, not over well pleased with the priest's estimate of her protégé.

"He gave me a long penance," continued Polydore. "The 'Litany of the Saint' and the 'Litany of the Blessed Virgin,' and three 'Our Father' and three 'Hail Mary' to say ev'ry mo'ning fo' a week. But he say' that ain' enough."

"My patience! W'at does he expec' mo' from you, I like to know?" Polydore was now creasing and scanning his hat attentively.

"He say' w'at I need, it's to be wo' out with the raw-hide. He say' he knows M'sieur José is too ole and feeble to give it to me like I deserve; and if you want, he say' he's willing to give me a good tas'e of the raw-hide himse'f."

Mamzelle Adélaïde found it impossible to disguise her indignation:

"Père Cassimelle sho'ly fo'gets himse'f, Polydore. Don't repeat to me any further his inconsid'ate remarks."

"He's right, nénaine. Père Cassimelle is right."