First, he had never lived at Sairmeuse.

And even if he had, what courtier of the _ancien regime_ ever troubled
himself about the individual names of the peasants, whom he regarded
with such profound indifference.

When a _grand seigneur_ addressed these people, he said: "Halloo! hi,
there! friend, my worthy fellow!"

So it was with the air of a man who is making an effort of memory that
the Duc de Sairmeuse repeated:

"Lacheneur--Monsieur Lacheneur----"

But Martial, a closer observer than his father, had noticed that the
priest's glance wavered at the sound of this name.

"Who is this person, Abbe?" demanded the duke, lightly.

"Monsieur Lacheneur," replied the priest, with very evident hesitation,
"is the present owner of the Chateau de Sairmeuse."

Martial, the precocious diplomat, could not repress a smile on hearing
this response, which he had foreseen. But the duke bounded from his
chair.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "it is the rascal who has had the impudence--Let him
come in, old woman, let him come in."

Bibiaine retired, and the priest's uneasiness increased.