heart was full of jealousy, fury, and suspicion. He was very quiet, he seemed tired. She did not notice that. Her heart had throbbed wildly as she stepped inside the shed. She looked round, all delirious eagerness for the nude figure.
There it was, covered up with a great canvas! Yes, there were the outlines of the figure. How shapely it seemed, even inside the canvas!
She stepped forward without a word, and snatched at the covering. He swiftly interposed and stopped her hand.
"I will see it," she said.
"Not to-day," he answered.
"I tell you I will." She wrenched her hand free and caught at the canvas. A naked foot and ankle showed. He pinioned her wrists with one hand and drew her towards the door, determination and anger in his face.
"You beast, you liar!" she said. "You beast! beast! beast!"
Then, with a burst of angry laughter, she opened the door herself. "You ain’t fit to know," she said; "they told the truth about you. Now you can take the canvas off her. Good-bye!" With that she was gone.
The following day was Sunday. François did not attend Mass, and such strange scandalous reports had reached the Curé that he was both disturbed and indignant. That afternoon, after vespers (which François did not attend), the Curé made his way to the sculptor’s workshop, followed by a number of parishioners.
The crowd increased, and when the Curé knocked at the door it seemed as if half the village was there.
The chief witness against François had been Jeanne Marchand. That very afternoon she had told the Curé,
