Monsieur le Cure--I know that I am going to be dreadfully intrusive; I see your cloth is laid--could you not invite us to dinner ?" "Bettina!" said Mrs.Scott.
"Let me alone, Susie, let me alone.

Won't you, Monsieur le Cure?
I am sure you will." But he could find no reply.

The old Cure hardly knew where he was.

They had taken his vicarage by storm; they were Catholics; they had promised him one thousand francs a month, and now they wanted to dine with him.
Ah! that was the last stroke.

Terror seized him at the thought of having to do the honors of his leg of mutton and his custard to these two absurdly rich Americans.