"Heaven shaped me for a rich man," he would say, lightly, whenever the momentous subject was broached, "but forgot to fill my pockets." It was almost the time of the vintage, and the country roads were dotted with the shambling figures of those knights of industry who seem to spring from the hedgerows at harvest-time in any country in the world, when the Abbe Touvent sought out Marie in her cottage at the gates of the chateau.
"A la cave," answered the lady's voice.

"In the cellar--do you not know that it is Monday and I wash ?" The Abbe did not repeat his summons on the kitchen table with the handle of his stick, but drew forward a chair.
"I know it is very hot, and that I am tired," he shouted toward the cellar door, which stood open, giving egress to a warm smell of soap.
"Precisely--and does Monsieur l'Abbe want me to come up as I am ?" The suggestion was darkly threatening, and the Abbe replied that Marie must take her time, since it was washing-day.
The cottage was built on sloping ground at the gate of the chateau, probably of the stones used for some earlier fortification.

That which Marie called the cellar was but half underground, and had an exit to the garden which grew to the edge of the cliff.

It was not long before she appeared at the head of the stone steps, a square-built woman with a face that had been sunburnt long ago by work in the vineyards, and eyes looking straight at the world from beneath a square and wrinkled forehead.
"Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, shortly--a salutation and a comment in one; for it conveyed the fact that she saw it was he and perceived that he was in his usual health.

"It is news from Monsieur, I suppose," she added, slowly, turning down her sleeves.
"Yes, the Marquis writes that he is on his way to Gemosac and wishes you to prepare the chateau for his return." The Abbe waved his hand toward the castle gates with an air suggestive of retainers and lackeys, of busy stables and a hundred windows lighted after dark.