"If them can say—if them can say—such lies as that to take away an honest man's name! If them can say—"
However he might protest, he was not believed.
He was confronted by Master Malandain, who repeated and supported his statement. They railed at each other for an hour. Master Hauchecorne demanded that they search his pockets. Nothing was found upon him.
Finally, the mayor, very much perplexed, let him go with the warning that he would inform the public prosecutor, and ask for orders.
The news had spread abroad. When he came out of the mayor's office, the old man was the centre of curiosity and questioning, both serious and jeering, but into which not the least resentment entered. And he began recounting the long rigmarole of the string. They did not believe him. They grinned.
He went along, stopped by every one, or accosting his acquaintances, going over and over his story and his protestations, pointing to his pockets turned inside out to prove he had nothing.
They said to him:
"Come now, you old rascal!"
And he became angry, exasperated, feverish, disconsolate at being doubted, and forever telling his story.
Night fell. It became time to go home. He started out with three of his neighbours, to whom he pointed out the spot where he had picked up the bit of string; and, all along the road, he recited his adventure.