"Maître Courtin," said Michel, "I'll give you a bit of advice in exchange."
"What's that, Monsieur le baron?"
"To hold your tongue."
"No, I cannot hold my tongue," replied the farmer, assuming an appearance of sorrowful emotion,--"no, it grieves me too much to see my young master exposed to such dangers, and all for--"
"Hush, Courtin!"
"For those cursed she-wolves whom the son of a peasant like myself would have none of."
"Wretch! will you be silent?" cried Michel, raising his whip.
The action, which Courtin had no doubt tried to provoke, caused Michel's horse to give a jump forward, and the mayor of La Logerie was now abreast of the two riders.
"I am sorry if I've offended you, Monsieur le baron," he said, in a whining tone. "Forgive me; but I haven't slept for two nights thinking about it."
Petit-Pierre shuddered. She heard the same false and wheedling voice that had spoken to her in the cottage of the Widow Picaut, followed, after the speaker's departure, by such painful events. She made Michel another sign, by which she meant, "Let us get rid of this man at any cost."