He grew more and more angry, feverish, in despair at not being
believed, and kept on telling his story.
The night came. It was time to go home. He left with three of his
neighbors, to whom he pointed out the place where he had picked up the
string, and all the way he talked of his adventure.
That evening he made the round of the village of Breauté for the
purpose of telling every one. He met only unbelievers.
He brooded over it all night long.
The next day, about one in the afternoon, Marius Paumelle, a farm hand
of Maitre Breton, the market gardener at Ymauville, returned the
pocketbook and its contents to Maitre Holbrèque, of Manneville.
This man said, indeed, that he had found it on the road, but not
knowing how to read, he had carried it home and given it to his
master.
The news spread to the environs. Maître Hauchecorne was informed. He
started off at once and began to relate his story with the dénoûment.
He was triumphant.
"What grieved me," said he, "was not the thing itself, do you
understand, but it was being accused of lying. Nothing does you so
much harm as being in disgrace for lying."
All day he talked of his adventure. He told it on the roads to the
people who passed, at the cabaret to the people who drank and next
Sunday when they came out of church. He even stopped strangers to tell
them about it. He was easy now, and yet something worried him without
his knowing exactly what it was. People had a joking manner while they
listened. They did not seem convinced. He seemed to feel their remarks
behind his back.
On Tuesday of the following week he went to market at Goderville,
prompted solely by the need of telling his story.