He wore a long rusty black, or rather grey cure's frock, which fell from his shoulders down to his heels, and was fastened round his body with a black belt--this garment was much the worse for wear, for Father Jerome had now been deprived of his income for some twelve months; but he was no whit ashamed of his threadbare coat, he rather gloried in it, and could not be induced by the liberal offers of his more wealthy friends to lay it aside.
Father Jerome greeted them all as he entered the breakfast-room.

He was received with great kindness by the old Marquis, who pressed his hand and made him sit beside himself; he blessed the two young girls fervently, and nodded affectionately to Henri, whom he had seen on the preceding day.

It was evident that the Cure of St.Laud's was quite at home at Durbelliere.
"We have awful times coming on us now, Father Jerome," said Agatha.
"Not so, Mademoiselle," said the priest, "we have good times coming, we will have a King and our Church again, we poor cure will have our homes and our altars again; our own parishes and our old flocks." "Come what, come may," said Henri, "we cannot be worse than the Convention would make us." "But we firmly trust that by God's will and with God's aid, we will soon be rid of all our troubles," said the priest.

"M le Marquis, we have your best wishes, I know; and your full approval.

I hope we shall soon be able to lay our trophies at your feet." "The approval of an old man like me is but of little avail; but you shall have my prayers.