The conversation of the two Breton country folks was interrupted by the brusque entrance of a man of about forty years, clad in a cutaway coat and trousers of black velvet, the usual railway employees' garb. His energetic face was partially covered with a thick brown beard. He seemed uneasy, and stepped into the shop precipitately, saying to Jeanike:
"Where is your master, my child? I must see him immediately. Pray, go and tell him that Dupont wants him. Remember my name well—Dupont."
"Monsieur Lebrenn went out this morning at daybreak, monsieur," answered Jeanike. "He has not yet come back."
"A thousand devils! Can he have gone there?" the new arrival muttered to himself.
He was about to leave the shop as precipitately as he had stepped in when a new thought struck him, and turning back to Jeanike he said:
"My child, tell Monsieur Lebrenn, the moment he comes back, that Dupont has arrived."
"Yes, monsieur."
"And that if he—Monsieur Lebrenn," added Dupont, hesitating like one hunting for a word; and then having found it, he proceeded saying: "Say to your master that, if he did not go this morning to inspect his supply of grain—you catch those words: his supply of grain—he should not go there before seeing Dupont. Can you remember that, my child?"
"Yes, monsieur. But if you would like to leave a note for Monsieur Lebrenn—"
"Not at all!" answered Dupont impatiently. "That's unnecessary—only tell him—"