pale cheeks and set teeth, Father Chupin preserved the subdued mien
appropriate to a messenger of misfortune.

But if one had observed him carefully, one would have detected an
ironical smile upon his lips and a gleam of malicious joy in his eyes.

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?"