“I’ll come and fetch you—Ha! Lupin,” he said to the notary, who came out with him to order his horse, “try to make sure that Madame Sarcus hears all the Shopman says and does against us at the Prefecture.”
“If she doesn’t hear it, who will?” replied Lupin.
“Excuse me,” said Rigou, smiling blandly, “but there are such a lot of ninnies in there that I forgot there was one clever man.”
“The wonder is that I don’t grow rusty among them,” replied Lupin, naively.
“Is it true that Soudry has hired a pretty servant?”
“Yes,” replied Lupin; “for the last week our worthy mayor has set the charms of his wife in full relief by comparing her with a little peasant-girl about the age of an old ox; and we can’t yet imagine how he settles it with Madame Soudry, for, would you believe it, he has the audacity to go to bed early.”
“I’ll find out to-morrow,” said the village Sardanapalus, trying to smile.
The two plotters shook hands as they parted.
Rigou, who did not like to be on the road after dark for, notwithstanding his present popularity, he was cautious, called to his horse, “Get up, Citizen,”—a joke this son of 1793 was fond of letting fly at the Revolution. Popular revolutions have no more bitter enemies than those they have trained themselves.
“Pere Rigou’s visits are pretty short,” said Gourdon the poet to Madame Soudry.