“Imagine the little wicked one vowing that he met no one!”
“Did monsieur conceive the road to be a desert?” said Nannon, drawing herself up defiantly.
“Where was Michault?” asked M. Deshoulières, disregarding.
“He was at Cottereau’s.”
Between obstinacy and fright it was difficult to extract the truth from the unhappy Jean-Marie, but the doctor’s questions at last elicited the facts that he had been persuaded to enter the Cottereaus’ cottage—one of those miserable huts which abound in the department—under pretence of receiving a commission from Mère Cottereau to buy some cotton yarn for her in Charville. Then it came out that Michault, who was sitting there, went away, the others gave the boy cider, and detained him for some time, while no doubt the theft was committed. The Cottereaus’ character was well-known in the district; it all seemed clear enough now that Jean-Marie acknowledged this much, and M. Deshoulières did not think the boy knew more. Notice would be given to the police, but it was not likely he would suffer from them. M. Deshoulières bestowed a few sharp words upon him, meaning all the while to say something to Gohon on his behalf. This neither Nannon nor Thérèse guessed; the old woman’s foolish fondness provoked him, and he would not let her see that he had any compassion for the culprit.
The crowd poured out into the sunshine again, rich colours flashed about here and there, carts were laden and driven off with great creaks and rumblings. People were tolerably satisfied with the ending of the affair, which left them one object for abuse in the treacherous Michault. The saleswomen congratulated themselves, only Madame Mathurine walked away alone with an angry indignant heart. It was nothing to her that her integrity had been proved, since it had once been doubted. She was not even grateful to M. Deshoulières.
Poor Max! He had done a good morning’s work, perhaps warded off a serious evil; if they had been men with whom he had to deal, his good deeds would have held a chance of appreciation. Here, on the contrary, old Nannon walked off, still erect and defiant; Madame Mathurine was unthankful; Thérèse called him unmerciful. Before he had time to look for her she had wished adieu to Madame Lemaire, who wanted to keep her, and had slipped out with the crowd. M. Deshoulières, coming to where he had left her, found her gone. He was obliged to explain something of her story to Madame Lemaire, who, with all her solidity, was curious and a little romantic.
“There must be but one conclusion,” she said, laughing good-humouredly when he had finished; “monsieur should marry her.”
He started with undisguised amazement. “I!”
“But yes. Is it so wonderful?”