“Now will you go to Boiscoran?” asked the mayor.

“I do not know yet.  Mechinet will have to look for some conveyance.”

Quick like lightning, the clerk was starting off, when M. Seneschal held him back, saying,—­

“Don’t go.  I place my horse and my carriage at your disposal.  Any one of these peasants can drive you.  Capt.  Parenteau and I will get into some farmer’s wagon, and thus get back to Sauveterre; for we ought to be back as soon as possible.  I have just heard alarming news.  There may be some disorder.  The peasant-women who attend the market have brought in most exciting reports, and exaggerated the calamities of last night.  They have started reports that ten or twelve men have been killed, and that the incendiary, M. de Boiscoran, has been arrested.  The crowd has gone to poor Guillebault’s widow; and there have been demonstrations before the houses of several of the principal inhabitants of Sauveterre.”

In ordinary times, M. Seneschal would not have intrusted his famous horse, Caraby, for any thing in the world, to the hands of a stranger.  He considered it the best horse in the province.  But he was evidently terribly upset, and betrayed it in his manner, and by the very efforts he made to regain his official dignity and self-possession.

He made a sign, and his carriage was brought up, all ready.  But, when he asked for somebody to drive, no one came forward.  All these good people who had spent the night abroad were in great haste to return home, where their cattle required their presence.  When young Ribot saw the others hesitate, he said,—­

“Well, I’ll drive the justice.”

And, taking hold of the whip and the reins, he took his seat on the front-bench, while the magistrate, the commonwealth attorney, and the clerk filled the vehicle.

“Above all, take care of Caraby,” begged M. Seneschal, who at the last moment felt almost overcome with anxiety for his favorite.

“Don’t be afraid, sir,” replied the young man, as he started the horse.  “If I strike too hard, M. Mechinet will stop me.”

This Mechinet, the magistrate’s clerk, was almost a power in Sauveterre; and the greatest personages there paid their court to him.  His official duties were of very humble nature, and ill paid; but he knew how to eke out his income by other occupations, of which the court took no notice; and these added largely both to his importance in the community and to his modest income.

As he was a skilful lithographer, he printed all the visiting-cards which the people of Sauveterre ordered at the principal printing-office of Sauveterre, where “The Independent” was published.  An able accountant, he kept books and made up accounts for some of the principal merchants in town.  Some of the country people who were fond of litigation came to him for legal advice; and he drew up all kinds of law papers.  For many years now, he had been director of the firemen’s band, and manager of the Orpheon.  He was a correspondent of certain Paris societies, and thus obtained free admission to the theatre not only, but also to the sacred precincts behind the scenes.  Finally he was always ready to give writing-lessons, French lessons to little girls, or music-lessons on the flute and the horn, to amateurs.