Jean now felt conscious that he was in the way. He had been greatly embarrassed at finding himself amid the previous emotional, tearful outbursts, and he would have made his escape much sooner had he known how to do so. He now summoned up his courage to take Monsieur Charles aside, and speak to him about the gardener's place. But Monsieur Charles's dignified face assumed a severe expression. A relation of his own holding a situation in his service! No, no, that would never do! A relation was never a profitable servant; it was impossible to treat him with necessary severity. Besides, the situation had been promised to another person on the previous day. Jean, therefore, took his leave, while Elodie was saying, in her soft voice, that if her father made himself disagreeable she would undertake to bring him to reason.
When Jean got outside the house he walked on slowly, quite at a loss as to where he should now turn in search of work. Out of the hundred and twenty-seven francs he had already paid for his wife's funeral, for the cross at the head of the grave, and for the railings round it, barely half of the money was left, but this would still keep him some time, and then he would see what happened. He was not afraid of poverty and hard work; his only anxiety arose from his unwillingness to leave Rognes on account of the legal proceedings he was contemplating. Three o'clock struck, then four, and then five. For a long time he continued wandering about the country, his brain full of confused ideas, his thoughts now dwelling upon La Borderie, and now upon the Charles family. Everywhere it was the same story, money and women; they seemed to over-ride everything else. Consequently there was little to wonder at in the fact that his own misfortunes arose from the same sources. At last he began to feel weak and faint, and bethought himself that as yet he had not had anything to eat; so he set off in the direction of the village, resolving to take up his quarters with the Lengaignes, who let lodgings. However, as he crossed the open square in front of the church, the sight of the house from which he had been expelled in the morning rekindled an angry glow in his veins. Why should he let those knavish wretches keep his frock-coat and two pairs of trousers? They were his own, and he would have them, even at the risk of coming to blows again.
It was growing dark when Jean entered the yard, and he was scarcely able to distinguish old Fouan, who was sitting on the stone bench. However, as he reached the door leading to the kitchen, in which a candle was burning, Buteau caught sight of him and sprang forward to bar his passage.
"God in heaven! you here again! What do you want?"
"I want my two pairs of trousers and my frock-coat."
A frightful quarrel now ensued. Jean doggedly insisted on getting his things out of the drawer; while Buteau, who had seized a bill-hook, swore that he would cut his throat if he crossed the threshold. At last Lise's voice sounded from inside.
"Let him have his rags!" she cried. "You'd never think of touching the rotten fellow's clothes yourself."
The two men now relapsed into silence, and Jean was standing waiting, when all at once old Fouan, who was still sitting on the stone bench behind his back, gave utterance to the alarm which was troubling his dazed brain.
"Make your escape," he stammered in his husky voice, "or they'll bleed you as they bled the little one."
This was a terrible revelation. Jean understood everything now—both the cause of Françoise's death and that of her obstinate silence. He had had his suspicions before, but now he no longer doubted but what she had remained silent in order to save her relatives from the guillotine. An icy chill froze him; he felt terrified, and he was incapable of either speech or motion when Lise, through the open doorway, hurled his trousers and coat in his face.