. You see, Monsieur, the
poor always help one another; it is the great people who make the
wars."

Cornudet, indignant at the friendly understanding established between
the victors and the vanquished, retired from the scene, preferring to
shut himself up in the inn. Loiseau of course must have his joke. "They
are re-populating," he said. Monsieur Carre-Lamadon found a more fitting
expression. "They are repairing."

But the driver was nowhere to be found. At last he was unearthed in the
village cafe hobnobbing fraternally with the officer's orderly.

"Did you not have orders to have the diligence ready by eight o'clock?"
the Count asked him.

"Oh, yes, but I got another order later on."

"What?"

"Not to put the horses in at all."

"Who gave you that order?"

"Ma foi--the Prussian commandant."

"Why?"

"I don't know--you had better ask him. I am told not to harness the
horses, and so I don't harness them--there you are."

"Did he tell you so himself?"

"No, Monsieur, the innkeeper brought me the message from him."

"When was that?"

"Last night, just as I was going to bed."

The three men returned much disconcerted. They asked for Monsieur
Follenvie, but were informed by the servant that on account of his
asthma he never got up before ten o'clock--he had even positively
forbidden them to awaken him before then except in case of fire.

Then they asked to see the officer, but that was absolutely impossible,
although he lodged at the inn.

Monsieur Follenvie alone was authorized to approach him on non-military
matters. So they had to wait. The women returned to their rooms and
occupied themselves as best they could.

Cornudet installed himself in the high chimney-corner of the kitchen,
where a great fire was burning. He had one of the little coffee-room
tables brought to him and a can of beer, and puffed away placidly at his
pipe, which enjoyed among the democrats almost equal consideration with
himself, as if in serving Cornudet it served the country also. The pipe
was a superb meerschaum, admirably colored, black as the teeth of its
owner, but fragrant, curved, shining familiar to his hand, and the
natural complement to his physiognomy. He sat there motionless, his eyes
fixed alternately on the flame of the hearth and the foam on the top of
his tankard, and each time after drinking he passed his bony fingers
with a self-satisfied gesture through his long greasy hair, while he
wiped the fringe of f