At last, having returned to his original calling, he was travelling for a Bordeaux house, and Gouttman, who took care of the diocese, disposed of wines for him to the ecclesiastics. “But,” he hurriedly added, “you must pardon me one minute; then I shall be at your service.”
He was proceeding with the examination of the accounts, and all of a sudden he jumped up excitedly.
“Certainly.”
“Ha! it’s wrong, that’s what it is!”
“What do you say?”
“I say that I’ve seen Hérambert myself,” replied Barberou in a passion. “The invoice makes it four thousand. No humbug!”
The dealer was not put out of countenance.
“Well, it discharges you—what next?”
Barberou, as he stood there with his face at first pale and then purple, impressed Bouvard and Pécuchet with the apprehension that he was about to strangle Gouttman.