CHAPTER II--FAUCHELEVENT IN THE PRESENCE OF A DIFFICULTY

  It is the peculiarity of certain persons and certain professions,notably priests and nuns, to wear a grave and agitated air on criticaloccasions. At the moment when Fauchelevent entered, this double form ofpreoccupation was imprinted on the countenance of the prioress, who wasthat wise and charming Mademoiselle de Blemeur, Mother Innocente, whowas ordinarily cheerful.

  The gardener made a timid bow, and remained at the door of the cell. Theprioress, who was telling her beads, raised her eyes and said:--

  "Ah! it is you, Father Fauvent."

  This abbreviation had been adopted in the convent.

  Fauchelevent bowed again.

  "Father Fauvent, I have sent for you."

  "Here I am, reverend Mother."

  "I have something to say to you."

  "And so have I," said Fauchelevent with a boldness which caused himinward terror, "I have something to say to the very reverend Mother."

  The prioress stared at him.

  "Ah! you have a communication to make to me."

  "A request."

  "Very well, speak."

  Goodman Fauchelevent, the ex-notary, belonged to the category ofpeasants who have assurance. A certain clever ignorance constitutes aforce; you do not distrust it, and you are caught by it. Faucheleventhad been a success during the something more than two years which he hadpassed in the convent. Always solitary and busied about his gardening,he had nothing else to do than to indulge his curiosity. As he was at adistance from all those veiled women passing to and fro, he saw beforehim only an agitation of shadows. By dint of attention and sharpnesshe had succeeded in clothing all those phantoms with flesh, and thosecorpses were alive for him. He was like a deaf man whose sight growskeener, and like a blind man whose hearing becomes more acute. He hadapplied himself to riddling out the significance of the different peals,and he had succeeded, so that this taciturn and enigmatical cloisterpossessed no secrets for him; the sphinx babbled all her secrets in hisear. Fauchelevent knew all and concealed all; that constituted his art.The whole convent thought him stupid. A great merit in religion. Thevocal mothers made much of Fauchelevent. He was a curious mute. Heinspired confidence. Moreover, he was regular, and never went out exceptfor well-demonstrated requirements of the orchard and vegetable garden.This discretion of conduct had inured to his credit. None the less, hehad set two men to chattering: the porter, in the convent, and heknew the singularities of their parlor, and the grave-digger, atthe cemetery, and he was acquainted with the peculiarities of theirsepulture; in this way, he possessed a double light on the subject ofthese nuns, one as to their life, the other as to their death. But hedid not abuse his knowledge. The congregation thought a great deal ofhim. Old, lame, blind to everything, probably a little deaf into thebargain,--what qualities! They would have found it difficult to replacehim.

  The goodman, with the assurance of a person who feels that he isappreciated, entered into a rather diffuse and very deep rustic harangueto the reverend prioress. He talked a long time about his age, hisinfirmities, the surcharge of years counting double for him henceforth,of the increasing demands of his work, of the great size of the garden,of nights which must be passed, like the last, for instance, when he hadbeen obliged to put straw mats over the melon beds, because of the moon,and he wound up as follows: "That he had a brother"--(the prioress madea movement),--"a brother no longer young"--(a second movement on thepart of the prioress, but one expressive of reassurance),--"that, if hemight be permitted, this brother would come and live with him and helphim, that he was an excellent gardener, that the community would receivefrom him good service, better than his own; that, otherwise, if hisbrother were not admitted, as he, the elder, felt that his health wasbroken and that he was insufficient for the work, he should be obliged,greatly to his regret, to go away; and that his brother had a littledaughter whom he would bring with him, who might be reared for God inthe house, and who might, who knows, become a nun some day."

  When he had finished speaking, the prioress stayed the slipping of herrosary between her fingers, and said to him:--

  "Could you procure a stout iron bar between now and this evening?"

  "For what purpose?"

  "To serve as a lever."

  "Yes, reverend Mother," replied Fauchelevent.

  The prioress, without adding a word, rose and entered the adjoiningroom, which was the hall of the chapter, and where the vocal motherswere probably assembled. Fauchelevent was left alone.