“Yes, yes!” exclaimed the peasants; “let us go at once!”
They were starting, when a villager who sometimes read the papers, checked them by saying:
“Take care what you do. Do you not know that since the return of the Bourbons Monsieur d’Escorval is of no account whatever? Fouche has him upon the proscription list, and he is under the surveillance of the police.”
This objection dampened the enthusiasm.
“That is true,” murmured some of the older men; “a visit to Monsieur d’Escorval would, perhaps, do us more harm than good. And, besides, what advice could he give us?”
Chanlouineau had forgotten all prudence.
“What of that?” he exclaimed. “If Monsieur d’Escorval has no counsel to give us about this matter, he can, perhaps, teach us how to resist and to defend ourselves.”
For some moments Father Chupin had been studying, with an impassive countenance, the storm of anger he had aroused. In his secret heart he experienced the satisfaction of the incendiary at the sight of the flames he has kindled.
Perhaps he already had a presentiment of the infamous part he would play a few months later.
Satisfied with his experiment, he assumed, for the time, the role of moderator.