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was like Gargantus； who； when his wife died in giving birth to
Pantagruel； did not know whether to rejoice at the birth of a son or
grieve at having buried his good Babette； and therefore cheated
himself by rejoicing at the death of his wife； and deploring the
advent of Pantagruel。
The Abbe Birotteau spent the first days of his mourning in verifying
the books in HIS library； in making use of HIS furniture； in examining
the whole of his inheritance； saying in a tone which； unfortunately；
was not noted at the time； 〃Poor Chapeloud！〃 His joy and his grief so
completely absorbed him that he felt no pain when he found that the
office of canon； in which the late Chapeloud had hoped his friend
Birotteau might succeed him； was given to another。 Mademoiselle Gamard
having cheerfully agreed to take the vicar to board； the latter was
thenceforth a participator in all those felicities of material comfort
of which the deceased canon had been wont to boast。
Incalculable they were！ According to the Abbe Chapeloud none of the
priests who inhabited the city of Tours； not even the archbishop； had
ever been the object of such minute and delicate attentions as those
bestowed by Mademoiselle Gamard on her two lodgers。 The first words
the canon said to his friend when they met for their walk on the Mail
referred usually to the succulent dinner he had just eaten； and it was
a very rare thing if during the walks of each week he did not say at
least fourteen times； 〃That excellent spinster certainly has a
vocation for serving ecclesiastics。〃
〃Just think；〃 the canon would say to Birotteau； 〃that for twelve
consecutive years nothing has ever been amiss；linen in perfect
order； bands； albs； surplices； I find everything in its place； always
in sufficient quantity； and smelling of orris…root。 My furniture is
rubbed and kept so bright that I don't know when I have seen any dust
did you ever see a speck of it in my rooms？ Then the firewood is so
well selected。 The least little things are excellent。 In fact；
Mademoiselle Gamard keeps an incessant watch over my wants。 I can't
remember having rung twice for anythingno matter whatin ten years。
That's what I call living！ I never have to look for a single thing；
not even my slippers。 Always a good fire； always a good dinner。 Once
the bellows annoyed me； the nozzle was choked up； but I only mentioned
it once； and the next day Mademoiselle gave me a very pretty pair；
also those nice tongs you see me mend the fire with。〃
For all answer Birotteau would say； 〃Smelling of orris…root！〃 That
〃smelling of orris…root〃 always affected him。 The canon's remarks
revealed ideal joys to the poor vicar； whose bands and albs were the
plague of his life； for he was totally devoid of method and often
forgot to order his dinner。 Therefore； if he saw Mademoiselle Gamard
at Saint…Gatien while saying mass or taking round the plate； he never
failed to give her a kindly and benevolent look；such a look as Saint
Teresa might have cast to heaven。
Though the comforts which all creatures desire； and for which he had
so often longed； thus fell to his share； the Abbe Birotteau； like the
rest of the world； found it difficult； even for a priest； to live
without something to hanker for。 Consequently； for the last eighteen
months he had replaced his two satisfied passions by an ardent longing
for a canonry。 The title of Canon had become to him very much what a
peerage is to a plebeian minister。 The prospect of an appointment；
hopes of which had just been held out to him at Madame de Listomere's；
so completely turned his head that he did not observe until he reached
his own door that he had left his umbrella behind him。 Perhaps； even
then； if the rain were not falling in torrents he might not have
missed it； so absorbed was he in the pleasure of going over and over
in his mind what had been said to him on the subject of his promotion
by the company at Madame de Listomere's；an old lady with whom he
spent every Wednesday evening。
The vicar rang loudly； as if to let the servant know she was not to
keep him waiting。 Then he stood close to the door to avoid； if he
could； getting showered； but the drip from the roof fell precisely on
the toes of his shoes； and the wind blew gusts of rain into his face
that were much like a shower…bath。 Having calculated the time necesary
for the woman to leave the kitchen and pull the string of the outer
door； he rang again； this time in a manner that resulted in a very
significant peal of the bell。
〃They can't be out；〃 he said to himself； not hearing any movement on
the premises。
Again he rang； producing a sound that echoed sharply through the house
and was taken up and repeated by all the echoes of the cathedral； so
that no one could avoid waking up at the remonstrating racket。
Accordingly； in a few moments； he heard； not without some pleasure in
his wrath； the wooden shoes of the servant…woman clacking along the
paved path which led to the outer door。 But even then the discomforts
of the gouty old gentleman were not so quickly over as he hoped。
Instead of pulling the string； Marianne was obliged to turn the lock
of the door with its heavy key； and pull back all the bolts。
〃Why did you let me ring three times in such weather？〃 said the vicar。
〃But； monsieur； don't you see the door was locked？ We have all been in
bed ever so long； it struck a quarter to eleven some time ago。
Mademoiselle must have thought you were in。〃
〃You saw me go out； yourself。 Besides； Mademoiselle knows very well I
always go to Madame de Listomere's on Wednesday evening。〃
〃I only did as Mademoiselle told me； monsieur。〃
These words struck the vicar a blow； which he felt the more because
his late revery had made him completely happy。 He said nothing and
followed Marianne towards the kitchen to get his candlestick； which he
supposed had been left there as usual。 But instead of entering the
kitchen Marianne went on to his own apartments； and there the vicar
beheld his candlestick on a table close to the door of the red salon；
in a sort of antechamber formed by the landing of the staircase； which
the late canon had inclosed with a glass partition。 Mute with
amazement； he entered his bedroom hastily； found no fire； and called
to Marianne； who had not had time to get downstairs。
〃You have not lighted the fire！〃 he said。
〃Beg pardon； Monsieur l'abbe； I did；〃 she said； 〃it must have gone
out。〃
Birotteau looked again at the hearth； and felt convinced that the fire
had been out since morning。
〃I must dry my feet；〃 he said。 〃Make the fire。〃
Marianne obeyed with the haste of a person who wants to get back to
her night's rest。 While looking about him for his slippers； which were
not in the middle of his bedside carpet as usual； the abbe took mental
notes of the state of Marianne's dress； which convinced him that she
had not got out of bed to open the door as she said she had。 He th