r once more in review.
He was one of those men who, though very young, have the air of age, and who, though slender, are extremely strong.
"Comrade!" cried Fauchelevent.
The man turned round.
"I am the convent grave-digger."
"My colleague," said the man.
Fauchelevent, who was illiterate but very sharp, understood that he had to deal with a formidable species of man, with a fine talker. He muttered:
"So Father Mestienne is dead."
The man replied:--
"Completely.
The good God consulted his note-book which shows when the time is up.
It was Father Mestienne''s turn.
Father Mestienne died."
Fauchelevent repeated mechanically:
"The good God--"
"The good God," said the man authoritatively.
"According to the philosophers, the Eternal Father; according to the Jacobins, the Supreme Being."
"Shall we not make each other''s acquaintance?" stammered Fauchelevent.
"It is made.
You are a peasant, I am a Parisian."
"People do not know each other until they have drunk together. He who empties his glass empties his heart.
You must come and have a drink with me.
Such a thing cannot be refused."
"Business first."
Fauchelevent thought:
"I am lost."
They were only a few turns of the wheel distant from the small alley leading to the nuns'' corner.