At the end of the avenue they all three gave vent to their indignation.
“They treated me as if I were a servant,” grumbled Foureau; and, as his companions agreed with him, in spite of their recollection of the affair of the hemorrhoids, he exhibited towards them a kind of sympathy.
Road-menders were working in the neighbourhood. The man who was over them drew near: it was Gorju. They began to chat.
He was overseeing the macadamisation of the road, voted in 1848, and he owed this post to M. de Mahurot, the engineer. “The one that’s going to marry Mademoiselle de Faverges. I suppose ’tis from the house below you were just coming?”
“For the last time,” said Pécuchet gruffly.
Gorju assumed an innocent air. “A quarrel! Come, come!”
And if they could have seen his countenance when they had turned on their heels, they might have observed that he had scented the cause of it.
A little further on, they stopped before a trellised enclosure, inside which there were kennels, and also a red-tiled cottage.
Victorine was on the threshold. They heard dogs barking. The gamekeeper’s wife came out. Knowing the object of the mayor’s visit, she called to Victor. Everything was ready beforehand, and their outfit was contained in two pocket-handkerchiefs fastened together with pins.
“A pleasant journey,” said the woman to the children, too glad to have no more to do with such vermin.