Everybody has enemies in this life.  Now the steward and his wife had wounded the feelings of a retired army officer, Monsieur de Reybert, and his wife, who were living near Presles.  From speeches like pin-pricks, matters had advanced to dagger-thrusts.  Monsieur de Reybert breathed vengeance.  He was determined to make Moreau lose his situation and gain it himself.  The two ideas were twins.  Thus the proceedings of the steward, spied upon for two years, were no secret to Reybert.  The same conveyance that took Moreau’s letter to the count conveyed Madame de Reybert, whom her husband despatched to Paris.  There she asked with such earnestness to see the count that although she was sent away at nine o’clock, he having then gone to bed, she was ushered into his study the next morning at seven.

“Monsieur,” she said to the cabinet-minister, “we are incapable, my husband and I, of writing anonymous letters, therefore I have come to see you in person.  I am Madame de Reybert, nee de Corroy.  My husband is a retired officer, with a pension of six hundred francs, and we live at Presles, where your steward has offered us insult after insult, although we are persons of good station.  Monsieur de Reybert, who is not an intriguing man, far from it, is a captain of artillery, retired in 1816, having served twenty years,—­always at a distance from the Emperor, Monsieur le comte.  You know of course how difficult it is for soldiers who are not under the eye of their master to obtain promotion,—­not counting that the integrity and frankness of Monsieur de Reybert were displeasing to his superiors.  My husband has watched your steward for the last three years, being aware of his dishonesty and intending to have him lose his place.  We are, as you see, quite frank with you.  Moreau has made us his enemies, and we have watched him.  I have come to tell you that you are being tricked in the purchase of the Moulineaux farm.  They mean to get an extra hundred thousand francs out of you, which are to be divided between the notary, the farmer Leger, and Moreau.  You have written Moreau to invite Margueron, and you are going to Presles to-day; but Margueron will be ill, and Leger is so certain of buying the farm that he is now in Paris to draw the money.  If we have enlightened you as to what is going on, and if you want an upright steward you will take my husband; though noble, he will serve you as he has served the State.  Your steward has made a fortune of two hundred and fifty thousand francs out of his place; he is not to be pitied therefore.”

The count thanked Madame de Reybert coldly, bestowing upon her the holy-water of courts, for he despised backbiting; but for all that, he remembered Derville’s doubts, and felt inwardly shaken.  Just then he saw his steward’s letter and read it.  In its assurances of devotion and its respectful reproaches for the distrust implied in wishing to negotiate the purchase for himself, he read the truth.