“We will talk about that,” said Max, beginning to descend.

When they reached the bottom and met the first hilarious group, Max took Fario by the button of his jacket and said to him,—­

“Yes, my good Fario, I’ll give you a magnificent cart, if you will give me two hundred and fifty francs; but I won’t warrant it to go, like this one, up a tower.”

At this last jest Fario became as cool as though he were making a bargain.

“Damn it!” he said, “give me the wherewithal to replace my barrow, and it will be the best use you ever made of old Rouget’s money.”

Max turned livid; he raised his formidable fist to strike Fario; but Baruch, who knew that the blow would descend on others besides the Spaniard, plucked the latter away like a feather and whispered to Max,—­

“Don’t commit such a folly!”

The grand master, thus called to order, began to laugh and said to Fario,—­

“If I, by accident, broke your barrow, and you in return try to slander me, we are quits.”

“Not yet,” muttered Fario.  “But I am glad to know what my barrow was worth.”

“Ah, Max, you’ve found your match!” said a spectator of the scene, who did not belong to the Order of Idleness.

“Adieu, Monsieur Gilet.  I haven’t thanked you yet for lending me a hand,” cried the Spaniard, as he kicked the sides of his horse and disappeared amid loud hurrahs.

“We will keep the tires of the wheels for you,” shouted a wheelwright, who had come to inspect the damage done to the cart.

One of the shafts was sticking upright in the ground, as straight as a tree.  Max stood by, pale and thoughtful, and deeply annoyed by Fario’s speech.  For five days after this, nothing was talked of in Issoudun but the tale of the Spaniard’s barrow; it was even fated to travel abroad, as Goddet remarked,—­for it went the round of Berry, where the speeches of Fario and Max were repeated, and at the end of a week the affair, greatly to the Spaniard’s satisfaction, was still the talk of the three departments and the subject of endless gossip.  In consequence of the vindictive Spaniard’s terrible speech, Max and the Rabouilleuse became the object of certain comments which were merely whispered in Issoudun, though they were spoken aloud in Bourges, Vatan, Vierzon, and Chateauroux.  Maxence Gilet knew enough of that region of the country to guess how envenomed such comments would become.

“We can’t stop their tongues,” he said at last.  “Ah!  I did a foolish thing!”

“Max!” said Francois, taking his arm.  “They are coming to-night.”

“They!  Who!”

“The Bridaus.  My grandmother has just had a letter from her goddaughter.”

“Listen, my boy,” said Max in a low voice.  “I have been thinking deeply of this matter.  Neither Flore nor I ought to seem opposed to the Bridaus.  If these heirs are to be got rid of, it is for you Hochons to drive them out of Issoudun.  Find out what sort of people they are.  To-morrow at Mere Cognette’s, after I’ve taken their measure, we can decide what is to be done, and how we can set your grandfather against them.”