The mayor was awaiting him, seated in his official chair. He was the notary of the place, a large, grave man of pompous speech.
"Master Hauchecorne," he said, "you were seen this morning, on the Beauzeville road, to pick up the pocket-book lost by Master Houlbreque, of Manneville."
The countryman, confused, stared at the mayor, already frightened by this suspicion attaching to him—why he could not understand.
"I—I—I picked up that pocket-book?"
"Yes, you."
"On my word of honour, I didn't even know nothing about it."
"You were seen."
"They saw me—me? Who's they what saw me?" said Master Hauchecorne.
"Master Malandain, the harness-maker."