"On my word, so I might! I never thought of that."
"We'd better go there now," the sergeant decided. Two of his men went with him, as well as the peasants and a locksmith whose services were called into requisition. Rénine joined the party.
Soon, at the end of the village, they reached old de Gorne's farmyard, which Rénine recognized by Hortense's description of its position.
The old fellow was harnessing his horse and trap. When they told him what had happened, he burst out laughing:
"Three shots? Bang, bang, bang? Why, my dear sergeant, there are only two barrels to Mathias' gun!"
"What about the locked gate?"
"It means that the lad's asleep, that's all. Last night, he came and cracked a bottle with me ... perhaps two ... or even three; and he'll be sleeping it off, I expect ... he and Natalie."
He climbed on to the box of his trap--an old cart with a patched tilt--and cracked his whip:
"Good-bye, gentlemen all. Those three shots of yours won't stop me from going to market at Pompignat, as I do every Monday. I've a couple of calves under the tilt; and they're just fit for the butcher. Good-day to you!"
The others walked on. Rénine went up to the sergeant and gave him his name: