He advised me to see the Public Prosecutor, who was a friend of mine, and so I sent Morin home, and went to call on the magistrate.  He told me that the young woman who had been insulted was a young lady, Mademoiselle Henriette Bonnel, who had just received her certificate as governess in Paris, and spent her holidays with her uncle and aunt, who were very respectable tradespeople in Mauze, and what made Morin’s case all the more serious was, that the uncle had lodged a complaint; for the public official had consented to let the matter drop if this complaint were withdrawn, so we must try and get him to do this.

I went back to Morin’s and found him in bed, ill with excitement and distress.  His wife, a tall raw-boned woman with a beard, was abusing him continually, and she showed me into the room, shouting at me:  “So you have come to see that pig of a Morin.  Well, there he is, the darling!” And she planted herself in front of the bed, with her hands on her hips.  I told him how matters stood, and he begged me to go and see her uncle and aunt.  It was a delicate mission, but I undertook it, and the poor devil never ceased repeating:  “I assure you I did not even kiss her, no, not even that.  I will take my oath to it!”

I replied:  “It is all the same; you are nothing but a pig.”  And I took a thousand francs which he gave me, to employ them as I thought best, but as I did not care venturing to her uncle’s house alone, I begged Rivet to go with me, which he agreed to do, on the condition that we went immediately, for he had some urgent business at La Rochelle that afternoon.  So two hours later we rang at the door of a nice country house.  A pretty girl came and opened the door to us, who was assuredly the young lady in question, and I said to Rivet in a low voice:  “Confound it!  I begin to understand Morin!”

The uncle, Monsieur Tonnelet subscribed to The Fanal, and a fervent political co-religionist of ours, who received us with open arms and congratulated us and wished us joy; he was delighted at having the two editors in his house and Rivet whispered to me:  “I think we shall be able to arrange the matter of that Pig of a Morin for him.”

The niece had left the room, and I introduced the delicate object.  I waved the scepter of scandal before his eyes:  I accentuated the inevitable depreciation which the young lady would suffer if such an affair got known, for nobody would believe in a simple kiss, and the good man seemed undecided, but he could not make up his mind about anything without his wife, who would not be in until late that evening, but suddenly he uttered an exclamation of triumph:  “Look here, I have an excellent idea.  I will keep you here to dine and sleep, and when my wife comes home, I hope we shall be able to arrange matters.”