“It is a common report in the country, and was brought here by a man who came recently from Beauvais.”
“Have the murderers been discovered?”
“Apparently not; justice seems unable to discover anything at all.”
Monsieur de Lamotte hung his head, and his countenance assumed an expression of painful thought, as though this news affected him personally.
“Frankly,” resumed the cure, “I believe you will remain Seigneur du Buisson-Souef, and that I shall be spared the pain of writing another name over your seat in the church of Villeneuve.”
“The affair must be settled in a few days, for I can wait no longer; if the purchaser be not Monsieur Derues, it will have to be someone else. What makes you think he is short of money?”
“Oh! oh!” said the cure, “a man who has money either pays his debts, or is a cheat. Now Heaven preserve me from suspecting Monsieur Derues’ honesty!”
“What do you know about him?”
“Do you remember Brother Marchois of the Camaldulians, who came to see me last spring, and who was here the day Monsieur Derues arrived, with your wife and Edouard?”
“Perfectly. Well?”