After the funeral rites Gerard stepped respectfully up to the cure, and
offered to buy a mass for their souls.
Gerard, son of Catherine, always looked at two sides of a penny: and he
tried to purchase this mass a trifle under the usual terms, on account
of the pitiable circumstances. But the good cure gently but adroitly
parried his ingenuity, and blandly screwed him up to the market price.
In the course of the business they discovered a similarity of
sentiments. Piety and worldly prudence are not very rare companions:
still it is unusual to carry both so far as these two men did. Their
collision in the prayer market led to mutual esteem, as when knight
encountered knight worthy of his steel. Moreover the good cure loved a
bit of gossip, and finding his customer was one of those who had fought
the thieves at Domfront, would have him into his parlour and hear the
whole from his own lips. And his heart warmed to Gerard, and he said
"God was good to thee. I thank Him for't with all my soul. Thou art
a good lad." He added drily, "Shouldst have told me this tale in the
churchyard. I doubt, I had given thee the mass for love. However," said
he (the thermometer suddenly falling), "'tis ill luck to go back upon a
bargain. But I'll broach a bottle of my old Medoc for thee: and few
be the guests I would do that for." The cure went to his cupboard, and
while he groped for the choice bottle, he muttered to himself, "At their
old tricks again!"
"Plait-il?" said Gerard.
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