The wily general, soon aware of Gaubertin’s great experience in rural administration, felt it was politic to keep well with him until he had himself learned the secrets of it; accordingly, he passed himself off as another Mademoiselle Laguerre, a course which lulled the steward into false security.  This apparent simple-mindedness lasted all the time it took the general to learn the strength and weakness of Les Aigues, to master the details of its revenues and the manner of collecting them, and to ascertain how and where the robberies occurred, together with the betterments and economies which ought to be undertaken.  Then, one fine morning, having caught Gaubertin with his hand in the bag, as the saying is, the general flew into one of those rages peculiar to the imperial conquerors of many lands.  In doing so he committed a capital blunder,—­one that would have ruined the whole life of a man of less wealth and less consistency than himself, and from which came the evils, both small and great, with which the present history teems.  Brought up in the imperial school, accustomed to deal with men as a dictator, and full of contempt for “civilians,” Montcornet did not trouble himself to wear gloves when it came to putting a rascal of a land-steward out of doors.  Civil life and its precautions were things unknown to the soldier already embittered by his loss of rank.  He humiliated Gaubertin ruthlessly, though the latter drew the harsh treatment upon himself by a cynical reply which roused Montcornet’s anger.

“You are living off my land,” said the general, with jesting severity.

“Do you think I can live off the sky?” returned Gaubertin, with a sneer.

“Out of my sight, blackguard!  I dismiss you!” cried the general, striking him with his whip,—­blows which the steward always denied having received, for they were given behind closed doors.

“I shall not go without my release in full,” said Gaubertin, coldly, keeping at a distance from the enraged soldier.

“We will see what is thought of you in a police court,” replied Montcornet, shrugging his shoulders.

Hearing the threat, Gaubertin looked at the general and smiled.  The smile had the effect of relaxing Montcornet’s arms as though the sinews had been cut.  We must explain that smile.

For the last two years, Gaubertin’s brother-in-law, a man named Gendrin, long a justice of the municipal court of Ville-aux-Fayes, had become the president of that court through the influence of the Comte de Soulanges.  The latter was made peer of France in 1814, and remained faithful to the Bourbons during the Hundred-Days, therefore the Keeper of the Seals readily granted an appointment at his request.  This relationship gave Gaubertin a certain importance in the country.  The president of the court of a little town is, relatively, a greater personage than the president of one of the royal courts of a great city, who has various equals, such as generals,