“Monsieur,” he said, “if you will be guided by me, we will never speak together of matters and things, or people either, unless we are walking in the open country, or in places where we cannot be heard.  Maitre Desroches has fully explained to me the influence of the gossip of a little town.  Therefore I don’t wish you to be suspected of advising me; though Desroches has told me to ask for your advice, and I beg you not to be chary of giving it.  We have a powerful enemy in our front, and it won’t do to neglect any precaution which may help to defeat him.  In the first place, therefore, excuse me if I do not call upon you again.  A little coldness between us will clear you of all suspicion of influencing my conduct.  When I want to consult you, I will pass along the square at half-past nine, just as you are coming out after breakfast.  If you see me carry my cane on my shoulder, that will mean that we must meet—­accidentally—­in some open space which you will point out to me.”

“I see you are a prudent man, bent on success,” said old Hochon.

“I shall succeed, monsieur.  First of all, give me the names of the officers of the old army now living in Issoudun, who have not taken sides with Maxence Gilet; I wish to make their acquaintance.”

“Well, there’s a captain of the artillery of the Guard, Monsieur Mignonnet, a man about forty years of age, who was brought up at the Ecole Polytechnique, and lives in a quiet way.  He is a very honorable man, and openly disapproves of Max, whose conduct he considers unworthy of a true soldier.”

“Good!” remarked the lieutenant-colonel.

“There are not many soldiers here of that stripe,” resumed Monsieur Hochon; “the only other that I know is an old cavalry captain.”

“That is my arm,” said Philippe.  “Was he in the Guard?”

“Yes,” replied Monsieur Hochon.  “Carpentier was, in 1810, sergeant-major in the dragoons; then he rose to be sub-lieutenant in the line, and subsequently captain of cavalry.”

“Giroudeau may know him,” thought Philippe.

“This Monsieur Carpentier took the place in the mayor’s office which Gilet threw up; he is a friend of Monsieur Mignonnet.”

“How can I earn my living here?”

“They are going, I think, to establish a mutual insurance agency in Issoudun, for the department of the Cher; you might get a place in it, but the pay won’t be more than fifty francs a month at the outside.”

“That will be enough.”

At the end of a week Philippe had a new suit of clothes,—­coat, waistcoat, and trousers,—­of good blue Elbeuf cloth, bought on credit, to be paid for at so much a month; also new boots, buckskin gloves, and a hat.  Giroudeau sent him some linen, with his weapons and a letter for Carpentier, who had formerly served under Giroudeau.  The letter secured him Carpentier’s good-will, and the latter presented him to his friend Mignonnet as a man of great merit and the highest character.  Philippe won the admiration of these worthy officers by confiding to them a few facts about the late conspiracy, which was, as everybody knows, the last attempt of the old army against the Bourbons; for the affair of the sergeants at La Rochelle belongs to another order of ideas.