If the lightning had fallen upon the notary's house, it would not have produced a greater shock than Jeannet's simple letter. The Perdreaux, as they were better educated than the mass of the poor people, whom the ringleaders of the revolution use for their own purpose, did not doubt but there would be great trouble and an overthrow of thrones, but were not the less sure of the universal division of property, which they looked forward to with such eagerness. But the safest and strongest plank of salvation for them was the marriage of Isidore, and it was most important that it should take place now, or else the prison-doors would soon be opened. Old Perdreau was annihilated. For thirty years he had had the boldness to calumniate his neighbors on every occasion; he was on the eve, if he could, of causing the ruin, and perhaps the death, of our good lord by delivering up his property and betraying his secrets; but before this paper, which contained only a few lines without threats or anger, written by a foundling, he turned livid and trembled with fright, and his ugly face, ordinarily so bold, was covered with a cold sweat. Isidore also was as pale as he; from time to time he read Jean-Louis' letter, crushed it in his hand, trampled it under foot, swore by the holy name of the Lord, and struck the tables and chairs with his clenched fist. But that did not help the matter. The father and son dared not speak to each other. At last Isidore took the paper up again; and as if that scare-crow, by disappearing, could mend affairs, he tore it into a thousand pieces.
"We are lost, lost!" repeated old Perdreau, clutching his gray hair with both his hands.
"That remains to be seen!" cried Isidore. "Father, instead of sinking into such despair, you had better think of some plan. It was by your order I went to Montreux. I knew there was no need of such hurry."
"What could I do?" asked the unhappy old man, ready to humiliate himself before his son. "We were menaced on all sides."
"It was only you who saw all that," replied Isidore harshly; "I always listened to you too much."
"We can deny it all," ventured Perdreau.
"That is easy to say. But I am not sure of our men, if they should be questioned. That cursed foundling will be believed before all of us."
"Lost! lost!" repeated the notary, in the last state of despair.
"We won't give up," said Isidore. "Go to bed, father; you are in no condition to talk. I will reflect for both."
"Ah! think of something, no matter what; we must avert the blow," said old Perdreau, as he staggered to his room.