Shortly after a troop of peasants, armed with scythes and pitchforks, rushed down the road, chattering, and fired with excitement.
They touched their caps to the curé, who removed his shovel hat and bowed low, without, however, withdrawing his eyes from the book.
'Eh, well! Michel,' said one of the peasants; 'what will you do tearing on in that style? Let me ask Monsieur le Curé if he has seen the fellow.'
The priest continued murmuring his psalms:—
'Fac cum servo tuo secundum misericordiam tuam: et justificationes tuas doce me. Eh! what now, Vacherot?'
'Has Monsieur le Curé seen a man about here?'
'What sort of a man?'
'The fellow is M. Berthier, the ex-intendant of Paris, and he is flying the country.'
'What do you want with him? let him fly.'