“General,” said Michaud, gravely, “I will find out, for undoubtedly he has one; and if you would only allow it, a good bribe to that old scoundrel Fourchon will enable me to get at the truth; though after what he said just now I suspect the old fellow of having more secrets than one in his pouch.  That swindling old cordwainer told me himself they want to drive you from Les Aigues.  And let me tell you, for you ought to know it, that from Conches to Ville-aux-Fayes there is not a peasant, a petty tradesman, a farmer, a tavern-keeper who isn’t laying by his money to buy a bit of the estate.  Fourchon confided to me that Tonsard has already put in his claim.  The idea that you can be forced to sell Les Aigues has gone from end to end of the valley like an infection in the air.  It may be that the steward’s present house, with some adjoining land, will be the price paid for Sibilet’s spying.  Nothing is ever said among us that is not immediately known at Ville-aux-Fayes.  Sibilet is a relative of your enemy Gaubertin.  What you have just said about the attorney-general and the others will probably be reported before you have reached the Prefecture.  You don’t know what the inhabitants of this district are.”

“Don’t I know them?  I know they are the scum of the earth!  Do you suppose I am going to yield to such blackguards?” cried the general.  “Good heavens, I’d rather burn Les Aigues myself!”

“No need to burn it; let us adopt a line of conduct which will baffle the schemes of these Lilliputians.  Judging by threats, general, they are resolved on war to the knife against you; and therefore since you mention incendiarism, let me beg of you to insure all your buildings, and all your farmhouses.”

“Michaud, do you know whom they mean by ‘Shopman’?  Yesterday, as I was riding along by the Thune, I heard some little rascals cry out, ’The Shopman! here’s the Shopman!’ and then they ran away.”

“Ask Sibilet; the answer is in his line, he likes to make you angry,” said Michaud, with a pained look.  “But—­if you will have an answer —­well, that’s a nickname these brigands have given you, general.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means, general—­well, it refers to your father.”

“Ha! the curs!” cried the count, turning livid.  “Yes, Michaud, my father was a shopkeeper, an upholsterer; the countess doesn’t know it.  Oh! that I should ever—­well! after all, I have waltzed with queens and empresses.  I’ll tell her this very night,” he cried, after a pause.

“They also call you a coward,” continued Michaud.

“Ha!”

“They ask how you managed to save yourself at Essling when nearly all your comrades perished.”