A wretched greatcoat of lasting was flapping over his shoulders. His toes could be seen through the holes in his boots. Scratches and bruises stained his face with blood. He was fearfully emaciated, and rolled his eyes about like a wolf.
Foureau, coming up speedily, questioned him as to how he chanced to be under the beech trees, what his object was in coming back to Chavignolles, and also as to the employment of his time for the past six weeks.
"That is no business of yours. I have my liberty."
Placquevent searched him to find out whether he had cartridges about him.
They were about to imprison him provisionally.
Bouvard interposed.
"No use," replied the mayor; "we know your opinions."
"Nevertheless——"
"Ha! be careful; I give you warning. Be careful."
Bouvard persisted no further.