down on a small table.
“Well,” said the Bishop, “may you pass a good night. Tomorrow morning, before you set out, you shall drink a cup of warm milk from our cows.”
“Thanks, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said the man.
Hardly had he pronounced these words full of peace, when all of a sudden, and without transition, he made a strange movement, which would have frozen the two sainted women with horror, had they witnessed it. Even at this day it is difficult for us to explain what inspired him at that moment. Did he intend to convey a warning or to throw out a menace? Was he simply obeying a sort of instinctive impulse which was obscure even to himself? He turned abruptly to the old man, folded his arms, and bending upon his host a savage gaze, he exclaimed in a hoarse voice:—