"
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 Huelbreque 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.
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