He was, in fact, inwardly jubilant.  At that moment he had his revenge for all the slights and all the scorn he had been forced to endure.  And what a revenge!

And if his words seemed to fall slowly and reluctantly from his lips, it was only because he was trying to prolong the sufferings of his auditors as much as possible.

But a robust young fellow, with an intelligent face, who, perhaps, read Father Chupin’s secret heart, brusquely interrupted him: 

“What does the presence of the Duc de Sairmeuse at Montaignac matter to us?” he exclaimed.  “Let him remain at the Hotel de France as long as he chooses; we shall not go in search of him.”

“No! we shall not go in search of him,” echoed the other peasants, approvingly.

The old rogue shook his head with affected commiseration.

“Monsieur le Duc will not put you to that trouble,” he replied; “he will be here in less than two hours.”

“How do you know?”

“I know it through Monsieur Laugeron, who, when I mounted his horse, said to me:  ’Above all, old man, explain to my friend Lacheneur that the duke has ordered horses to be in readiness to convey him to Sairmeuse at eleven o’clock.’”

With a common movement, all the peasants who had watches consulted them.

“And what does he want here?” demanded the same young farmer.

“Pardon! he did not tell me,” replied Father Chupin; “but one need not be very cunning to guess.  He comes to revisit his former estates, and to take them from those who have purchased them, if possible.  From you, Rousselet, he will claim the meadows upon the Oiselle, which always yield two crops; from you, Father Gauchais, the ground upon which the Croix-Brulee stands; from you, Chanlouineau, the vineyards on the Borderie——­”

Chanlouineau was the impetuous young man who had interrupted Father Chupin twice already.

“Claim the Borderie!” he exclaimed, with even greater violence; “let him try, and we will see.  It was waste land when my father bought it—­covered with briers; even a goat could not have found pasture there.  We have cleared it of stones, we have scratched up the soil with our very nails, we have watered it with our sweat, and now they would try to take it from us!  Ah! they shall have my last drop of blood first!”

“I do not say but——­”

“But what?  Is it any fault of ours that the nobles fled to foreign lands?  We have not stolen their lands, have we?  The government offered them for sale; we bought them, and paid for them; they are lawfully ours.”

“That is true; but Monsieur de Sairmeuse is the great friend of the king.”

The young soldier, whose voice had aroused the most noble sentiments only a moment before, was forgotten.

Invaded France, the threatening enemy, were alike forgotten.  The all-powerful instinct of avarice was suddenly aroused.

“In my opinion,” resumed Chanlouineau, “we should do well to consult the Baron d’Escorval.”