As the bells were ringing for the third time, Landolin went down the road toward the city. A rider was trotting along after him. He came nearer. Landolin lifted his hat and said:
"Good-morning, Baron Discher. I owe you an explanation."
"I did not know it."
"I refused you as a juryman, through my attorney. I know you are a just man."
"Thank you."
"I only refused you because it would be pleasanter for you not to have to sit on a jury in such hot weather."
The Baron laughed and held the knob of his riding-whip to his mouth; then he said, "Good-morning," gave his horse the spur, and rode on.
A presentiment of the reception he was exposing himself to came over Landolin. He wanted to turn back: there was no necessity for his presence at the festival; but he was ashamed for his family to see him so irresolute. Peter is, then, in the right in having taken the reins from his hand. He went toward the town with long strides. Gunshots echoed, multiplying themselves in the wood through which he was passing, for the dedication of the flag was just beginning in the church.
Landolin moderated his step; indeed he sat down on the side of the road; he had already missed the chief solemnity, and could take his ease. The coach came up from the railway station. The driver asked Landolin if he would ride. Landolin was tired, and it was a good opportunity for returning; but he refused as if something drove him to the city. He laughed at himself as he recollected that in his childhood the May-meadow had been a place of execution. What can happen to him? He is acquitted, free, and in all honor.
Now clear trumpet-notes sounded from the upper town. Landolin hastened his steps--not to miss the procession.