and somewhat given to sharp practice.  The more money he makes, the worse he grows.  The moment that the peasant forsakes his life of toil pure and simple for the leisured existence of the landowning classes, he becomes intolerable.  There is a certain kind of character, partly virtuous, partly vicious, half-educated, half-ignorant, which will always be the despair of governments.  You will see an example of it in Taboureau.  He looks simple, and even doltish; but when his interests are in question, he is certainly profoundly clever.”

A heavy footstep announced the approach of the grain lender.

“Come in, Taboureau!” cried Benassis.

Thus forewarned by the doctor, the commandant scrutinized the peasant in the doorway.  Taboureau was decidedly thin, and stooped a little.  He had a bulging forehead, covered with wrinkles, and a cavernous face, in which two small gray eyes with a dark spot in either of them seemed to be pierced rather than set.  The lines of the miser’s mouth were close and firm, and his narrow chin turned up to meet an exaggeratedly hooked nose.  His hair was turning gray already, and deep furrows which converged above the prominent cheek-bones spoke of the wily shrewdness of a horse-dealer and of a life spent in journeying about.  He wore a blue coat in fairly clean condition, the square side-pocket flaps stuck out above his hips, and the skirts of the coats hung loose in front, so that a white-flowered waistcoat was visible.  There he stood firmly planted on both feet, leaning upon a thick stick with a knob at the end of it.  A little spaniel had followed the grain-dealer, in spite of Jacquotte’s efforts, and was crouching beside him.

“Well, what is it?” Benassis asked as he turned to this being.

Taboureau gave a suspicious glance at the stranger seated at the doctor’s table, and said: 

“It is not a case of illness, M. le Maire, but you understand how to doctor the ailments of the purse just as well as those of the body.  We have had a little difficulty with a man over at Saint-Laurent, and I have come to ask your advice about it.”

“Why not see the justice of the peace or his clerk?”

“Oh, because you are so much cleverer, sir, and I shall feel more sure about my case if I can have your countenance.”

“My good Taboureau, I am willing to give medical advice to the poor without charging for it; but I cannot look into the lawsuits of a man who is as wealthy as you are for nothing.  It costs a good deal to acquire that kind of knowledge.”

Taboureau began to twist his hat about.

“If you want my advice, in order to save the hard coin you would have to pay to the lawyer folk over in Grenoble, you must send a bag of rye to the widow Martin, the woman who is bringing up the charity children.”

“Dame!  I will do it with all my heart, sir, if you think it necessary.  Can I talk about this business of mine without troubling the gentleman there?” he added, with a look at Genestas.