“Have you, my dear fellow?” said Rigou, who a few days earlier had suggested this means of exasperating the peasantry to Sibilet, telling him to advise the general to try it.  “Then we’ve got him; he’s lost!  But it isn’t enough to hold him with one string; we must wind it round and round him like a roll of tobacco.  Slip the bolts of the door, my lad; tell my wife to bring my coffee and the liqueurs, and tell Jean to harness up.  I’m off to Soulanges; will see you to-night!—­Ah!  Vaudoyer, good afternoon,” said the late mayor as his former field-keeper entered the room.  “What’s the news?”

Vaudoyer related the talk which had just taken place at the tavern, and asked Rigou’s opinion as to the legality of the rules which the general thought of enforcing.

“He has the law with him,” said Rigou, curtly.  “We have a hard landlord; the Abbe Brossette is a malignant priest; he advises all such measures because you don’t go to mass, you miserable unbelievers.  I go; there’s a God, I tell you.  You peasants will have to bear everything, for the Shopman will always get the better of you—­”

“We shall glean,” said Vaudoyer, in that determined tone which characterizes Burgundians.

“Without a certificate of pauperism?” asked the usurer.  “They say the Shopman has gone to the Prefecture to ask for troops so as to force you to keep the law.”

“We shall glean as we have always gleaned,” repeated Vaudoyer.

“Well, glean then!  Monsieur Sarcus will decide whether you have the right to,” said Rigou, seeming to promise the help of the justice of the peace.

“We shall glean, and we shall do it in force, or Burgundy won’t be Burgundy any longer,” said Vaudoyer.  “If the gendarmes have sabres we have scythes, and we’ll see what comes of it!”

At half-past four o’clock the great green gate of the former parsonage turned on its hinges, and the bay horse, led by Jean, was brought round to the front door.  Madame Rigou and Annette came out on the steps and looked at the little wicker carriage, painted green, with a leathern hood, where their lord and master was comfortably seated on good cushions.

“Don’t be late home, monsieur,” said Annette, with a little pout.

The village folk, already informed of the measures the general proposed to take, were at their doors or standing in the main street as Rigou drove by, believing that he was going to Soulanges in their defence.

“Well, Madame Courtecuisse, so our mayor is on his way to protect us,” remarked an old woman as she knitted; the question of depredating in the forest was of great interest to her, for her husband sold the stolen wood at Soulanges.

“Ah! the good man, his heart bleeds to see the way we are treated; he is as unhappy as we are about it,” replied the poor woman, who trembled at the very name of her husband’s creditor, and praised him out of fear.

“And he himself, too,—­they’ve shamefully ill-used him!  Good-day, Monsieur Rigou,” said the old knitter to the usurer, who bowed to her and to his debtor’s wife.