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СКАЧАТЬ chance of finding or not finding his wallet.

      And the meal went on.

      They were finishing their coffee when the corporal of gendarmes appeared in the doorway.

      He inquired: —

      "Is Master Hauchecorne of Bréauté here?"

      Master Hauchecorne, who was seated at the farther end of the table, answered: —

      "Here I am."

      And the corporal added: —

      "Master Hauchecorne, will you be kind enough to go to the mayor's office with me? Monsieur the mayor would like to speak to you."

      The peasant, surprised and disturbed, drank his petit verre11 at one swallow, rose, and even more bent than in the morning, for the first steps after each rest were particularly painful, he started off, repeating: —

      "Here I am, here I am."

      And he followed the brigadier.

      The mayor was waiting for him, seated in his arm-chair. He was the local notary, a stout, solemn-faced man, given to pompous speeches.

      "Master Hauchecorne," he said, "you were seen this morning, on the

      Beuzeville road, to pick up the wallet lost by Master Huelbrčque of

      Manneville."

      The rustic, dumfounded, stared at the mayor, already alarmed by this suspicion which had fallen upon him, although he failed to understand it.

      "I, I – I picked up that wallet?"

      "Yes, you."

      "On my word of honor, I didn't even so much as see it."

      "You were seen."

      "They saw me, me? Who was it saw me?"

      "Monsieur Malandain, the harness-maker."

      Thereupon the old man remembered and understood; and flushing with anger, he cried: —

      "Ah! he saw me, did he, that sneak? He saw me pick up this string, look, m'sieu' mayor."

      And fumbling in the depths of his pocket, he produced the little piece of cord.

      But the mayor was incredulous and shook his head.

      "You won't make me believe, Master Hauchecorne, that Monsieur Malandain, who is a man deserving of credit, mistook this string for a wallet."

      The peasant, in a rage, raised his hand, spit to one side to pledge his honor, and said: —

      "It's God's own truth, the sacred truth, all the same, m'sieu' mayor.

      I say it again, by my soul and my salvation."

      "After picking it up," rejoined the mayor, "you hunted a long while in the mud, to see if some piece of money hadn't fallen out."

      The good man was suffocated with wrath and fear.

      "If any one can tell – if any one can tell lies like that to ruin an honest man! If any one can say – "

      To no purpose did he protest; he was not believed.

      He was confronted with Monsieur Malandain, who repeated and maintained his declaration. They insulted each other for a whole hour. At his own request, Master Hauchecorne was searched. They found nothing on him. At last the mayor, being sorely perplexed, discharged him, but warned him that he proposed to inform the prosecuting attorney's office and to ask for orders.

      The news had spread. On leaving the mayor's office, the old man was surrounded and questioned with serious or bantering curiosity, in which, however, there was no trace of indignation. And he began to tell the story of the string. They did not believe him. They laughed.

      He went his way, stopping his acquaintances, repeating again and again his story and his protestations, showing his pockets turned inside out, to prove that he had nothing.

      They said to him: —

      "You old rogue, va!"

      And he lost his temper, lashing himself into a rage, feverish with excitement, desperate because he was not believed, at a loss what to do, and still telling his story. Night came. He must needs go home. He started with three neighbors, to whom he pointed out the place where he had picked up the bit of string: and all the way he talked of his misadventure.

      During the evening he made a circuit of the village of Bréauté, in order to tell everybody about it. He found none but incredulous listeners.

      He was ill over it all night.

      The next afternoon, about one o'clock, Marius Paumelle, a farmhand employed by Master Breton, a farmer of Ymauville, restored the wallet and its contents to Master Huelbrčque of Manneville.

      The man claimed that he had found it on the road; but, being unable to read, had carried it home and given it to his employer.

      The news soon became known in the neighborhood; Master Hauchecorne was informed of it. He started out again at once, and began to tell his story, now made complete by the dénouement. He was triumphant.

      "What made me feel bad," he said, "wasn't so much the thing itself, you understand, but the lying. There's nothing hurts you so much as being blamed for lying."

      All day long he talked of his adventure; he told it on the roads to people who passed; at the wine-shop to people who were drinking; and after church on the following Sunday. He even stopped strangers to tell them about it. His mind was at rest now, and yet something embarrassed him, although he could not say just what it was. People seemed to laugh while they listened to him. They did not seem convinced. He felt as if remarks were made behind his back.

      On Tuesday of the next week, he went to market at Goderville, impelled solely by the longing to tell his story.

      Malandain, standing in his doorway, began to laugh when he saw him coming. Why?

      He accosted a farmer from Criquetot, who did not let him finish, but poked him in the pit of his stomach, and shouted in his face: "Go on, you old fox!" Then he turned on his heel.

      Master Hauchecorne was speechless, and more and more disturbed. Why did he call him "old fox"?

      When he was seated at the table, in Jourdain's Inn, he set about explaining the affair once more.

      A horse-trader from Montvilliers called out to him: —

      "Nonsense, nonsense, you old dodger! I know all about your string!"

      "But they've found the wallet!" faltered Hauchecorne.

      "None of that, old boy; there's one who finds it, and there's one who carries it back. I don't know just how you did it, but I understand you."

      The peasant was fairly stunned. He understood at last. He was accused of having sent the wallet back by a confederate, an accomplice.

      He tried to protest. The whole table began to laugh.

      He СКАЧАТЬ