"It must have been the drink; there was nothing else--no." The speaker was Parpon the dwarf, the oddest, in some ways the most foolish, in others the wisest man in Pontiac.
"That is no excuse," said the Cure.
"It is the only one he has, eh ?" answered Parpon.

His eyes were fixed meaningly on those of Pomfrette.
"It is no excuse," repeated the Cure sternly.

"The blasphemy is horrible, a shame and stigma upon Pontiac for ever." He looked Pomfrette in the face.

"Foul-mouthed and wicked man, it is two years since you took the Blessed Sacrament.

Last Easter day you were in a drunken sleep while Mass was being said; after the funeral of your own father you were drunk again.