Abbe Mouret's Transgression

he moment when the first fine weather began. By the planet's height in the sky Abbe Mouret now perceived that he h

nd at the black rigid silhouette which the big cypress-tree, the Solitaire, set against the blue sky. Amidst the drowsiness fostered by the heat, he thought of how richly tha

to La Palud, a gig coming down the hill compelled him to step behind a heap of ston

Pascal, as the poor folk of Plassans, whom he attended for nothing, briefly styled him. Although barely over fifty, he was already snowy

els, Dr. Pascal and

ons.

the day?' he said gaily, as he stooped to grasp t

e, uncle,' answered

And he went on to relate that he was now on his way to old Jeanbernat, the steward of the Paradou, who had had

continued. 'However, we must make sure....

ng his whip, when Ab

clock do you m

ter to

s that his luncheon was getting cold. But he plucked up courage and added swiftly: 'I'll g

could not re

er you convert him! Never mind, come all the

ut of the corner of his eye he inquisitively observed his nephew with the keenness of a scientist bent on taking notes. In short kindly sentences he inquired about his life, his habits, and

And Serge, greatly surprised, assured him that he was in splendid trim,

are sound enough. By-the-bye, I saw your brother Octave at Marseilles last month. He is off to Pari

nnocently inqu

ll-your aunt Felicite, your uncle Rougon, and the others. Still, that does not hinder our needin

, good-humoured way that Serge him

all came in turn. For my part, I can do without their confessions; I watch them from a distance; I have got their records at home among my

y his enthusiasm for science. A glance at

se. Your relatives, starting like you, have done a deal of evil, and still they are unsatisfied. It's all logically perfect, my lad. A priest completes the family. Besides, it was inevitable. Our blood wa

e, was threading its way through desolate ravines; at last it reached a tableland, where the hollow road skirt

ear, are we not?'

We are not three miles from Les Artaud. A splendid property it must have been, this Paradou. The park wall

bbe, as he looked up in astonishment at the

orest amidst the bare rocks which surround it. The Mascle, too, r

ckling streams, and statues-a miniature Versailles hidden away among the stones, under the full blaze of the southern sun. But he had there spent but one season with a lady of bewitching beauty, who doubtless died there, as none had ever seen her leave. Next year the

aughingly said Abbe Mouret. 'Don't you fin

llowed, an

the Paradou b

adders' nest that he has never turned up since. The real master is the caretaker, that old oddity, Jeanbernat, who has managed to find qua

the lodge inhabited by Jeanbernat. It stood within the park, which it overlooked. But the old keeper had apparently blocked up that side of his dwelling, and had cleared a li

around him and questioning the doctor, who was hurri

ll alone in this out-of-

'Well, he has with him a niece whom he had to take in, a queer girl, a