To the inhabitants of Sairmeuse and its environs, "the city" meant
the country town of the _arrondissement_, Montaignac, a charming
sub-prefecture of eight thousand souls, about four leagues distant.

"And was it at Montaignac that you bought the horse you were riding just
now?"

"I did not buy it; it was loaned to me."

This was such a strange assertion that his listeners could not repress a
smile. He did not seem to notice it, however.

"It was loaned me," he continued, "in order that I might bring some
great news here the quicker."

Fear resumed possession of the peasantry.

"Is the enemy in the city?" anxiously inquired some of the more timid.

"Yes; but not the enemy you refer to. This is the former lord of the
manor, the Duc de Sairmeuse."

"Ah! they said he was dead."

"They were mistaken."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, I have not seen him, but someone else has seen him for me, and has
spoken to him. And this someone is Monsieur Laugeron, the proprietor of
the Hotel de France at Montaignac. I was passing the house this morning,
when he called me. 'Here, old man,' he said, 'do you wish to do me a
favor?' Naturally I replied: 'Yes.' Whereupon he placed a coin in my
hand and said: 'Well! go and tell them to saddle a horse for you,
then gallop to Sairmeuse, and tell my friend Lacheneur that the Duc
de Sairmeuse arrived here last night in a post-chaise, with his son,
Monsieur Martial, and two servants.'"

Here, in the midst of these peasants, who were listening to him with
pale cheeks and set teeth, Father Chupin preserved the subdued mien
appropriate to a messenger of misfortune.

But if one had observed him carefully, one would have detected an
ironical smile upon his lips and a gleam of malicious joy in his eyes.

He was, in fact, inwardly jubilant. At that moment he had his revenge
for all the slights and all the scorn he had been forced to endure. And
what a revenge!

And if his words seemed to fall slowly and reluctantly from his lips, it
was only because he was trying to prolong the sufferings of his auditors
as much as possible.

But a robust young fellow, with an intelligent face, who, perhaps, read
Father Chupin's secret heart, brusquely interrupted him:

"What does the presence of the Duc de Sairmeuse at Montaignac matter to
us?" he exclaimed. "Let him remain at the Hotel de France as long as he
chooses; we shall not go in search of him."

"No! we shall not go in search of him," echoe