And Mother Goussot, in her turn, yelped, in her shrill voice:
"Is it prison you're afraid of? Hand over the notes and you can hook it!"
But old Trainard did not breathe a word; and the husband and wife tired their lungs in vain.
Shocking days passed. Farmer Goussot could no longer sleep, lay shivering with fever. The sons became morose and quarrelsome and never let their guns out of their hands, having no other idea but to shoot the tramp.
It was the one topic of conversation in the village; and the Goussot story, from being local at first, soon went the round of the press. Newspaper-reporters came from the assize-town, from Paris itself, and were rudely shown the door by Farmer Goussot.
"Each man his own house," he said. "You mind your business. I mind mine. It's nothing to do with any one."
"Still, Farmer Goussot...."
"Go to blazes!"
And he slammed the door in their face.
Old Trainard had now been hidden within the walls of Héberville for something like four weeks. The Goussots continued their search as doggedly and confidently as ever, but with daily decreasing hope, as though they were confronted with one of those mysterious obstacles which discourage human effort. And the idea that they would never see their money again began to take root in them.