“The whole place knows about it!” cried Simon, raising his arms to heaven. “We must hurry up or Madame Guibert will hear of it.”
Randon, old and broken down, had to thank the size of his estate for the electors’ regard. He was an honest man, but as shy and nervous as a hare. He gave a timid vote for the Mayor’s visit in person. As to Détraz, the boorish and vulgar, he admitted at once that he took no interest whatever in the question.
“Two against two; it’s a tie,” shouted Pitet the Red, exultantly, throwing all his long-cherished rancor into the argument.
In a weak voice Randon muttered that the schoolmaster had no say in the matter and that the Mayor’s voice was the important one. But nobody listened to his prudent words. The Mayor was derided for the lukewarmness of his democratic opinions and was at last reduced to silence.
“Now then, you’re the oldest, you must go,” said Pitet to Randon.
“Oh, no, not I!” cried the latter, terrified. And he kept on repeating “Not I!” as if the message of death threatened his own life. He was thinking of his own peace of mind above all things.
“Well then, you, Détraz.”
“It isn’t my business.”
“Then I shall go,” said the Mayor, taking on an offensive manner.
Randon expressed a mild approval.