In fact, before evening many persons in Issoudun, including Max, were informed of this estimate, which had the immediate effect of causing a search for all the old paintings which no one had ever cared for, and the appearance of many execrable daubs.  Max repented having driven the old man into giving away the pictures, and the rage he felt against the heirs after hearing from Baruch old Hochon’s ecclesiastical scheme, was increased by what he termed his own stupidity.  The influence of religion upon such a feeble creature as Rouget was the one thing to fear.  The news brought by his two comrades decided Maxence Gilet to turn all Rouget’s investments into money, and to borrow upon his landed property, so as to buy into the Funds as soon as possible; but he considered it even more important to get rid of the Parisians at once.  The genius of the Mascarilles and Scapins out together would hardly have solved the latter problem easily.

Flore, acting by Max’s advice, pretended that Monsieur was too feeble to take walks, and that he ought, at his age, to have a carriage.  This pretext grew out of the necessity of not exciting inquiry when they went to Bourges, Vierzon, Chateauroux, Vatan, and all the other places where the project of withdrawing investments obliged Max and Flore to betake themselves with Rouget.  At the close of the week, all Issoudun was amazed to learn that the old man had gone to Bourges to buy a carriage,—­a step which the Knights of Idleness regarded as favorable to the Rabouilleuse.  Flore and Max selected a hideous “berlingot,” with cracked leather curtains and windows without glass, aged twenty-two years and nine campaigns, sold on the decease of a colonel, the friend of grand-marshal Bertrand, who, during the absence of that faithful companion of the Emperor, was left in charge of the affairs of Berry.  This “berlingot,” painted bright green, was somewhat like a caleche, though shafts had taken the place of a pole, so that it could be driven with one horse.  It belonged to a class of carriages brought into vogue by diminished fortunes, which at that time bore the candid name of “demi-fortune”; at its first introduction it was called a “seringue.”  The cloth lining of this demi-fortune, sold under the name of caleche, was moth-eaten; its gimps looked like the chevrons of an old Invalide; its rusty joints squeaked,—­but it only cost four hundred and fifty francs; and Max bought a good stout mare, trained to harness, from an officer of a regiment then stationed at Bourges.  He had the carriage repainted a dark brown, and bought a tolerable harness at a bargain.  The whole town of Issoudun was shaken to its centre in expectation of Pere Rouget’s equipage; and on the occasion of its first appearance, every household was on its door-step and curious faces were at all the windows.