“I heard the news at the Fountain,” he declared as he came in. “I can’t do anything. What do you want of me?”
He always spoke in a coarse, aggressive tone. He had been a tenant at Le Maupas, and suddenly had to leave his farm. Nobody ever understood why he was sent away from an estate where the tenants and servants “took root,” as was currently said. In reality it was on account of a theft, about which Dr. Guibert had never told anyone. Till the doctor’s death Pitet had kept quiet. When he was quite certain he could do so with impunity, he raised his head and played a vigorous part in all the elections. He began by making money out of politics and ended by getting dignity—which people were the less ready to refuse him because he needed it so much. The whole community was afraid of him, and everyone knows the power of fear over the peasants. He turned the scale at once in favor of the schoolmaster Maillard. The Mayor could not put himself out for the “aristocrats.”
“The Mayor must put himself at the service of everybody,” said Simon, whose face shone like a burning log. “And, besides, a man’s death isn’t a matter of politics.”
Pitet the Red would not hear of it.
“There you are! You must bow and scrape to the nobility and the church! Then you will say it isn’t a matter of politics. Your daughters go to Mass, Mr. Mayor. Take care, it won’t be forgotten.”
“But I don’t go to their church! Our deputy knows that,” cried Simon.
“You don’t go to Cognin, but you go to Bissy.”
Bissy was the neighboring parish. While the Mayor was defending himself, Randon and Détraz entered the room.
“Now, Mélanie, two pints of wine, one red and one white. And see that it’s good stuff!”
The newcomers asked together: “He’s dead then?”