The Honor of the Name | Page 5

in a terrible hurry."
"The old rascal has probably stolen the horse he is riding."
This last remark disclosed the reputation Father Chupin enjoyed among
his neighbors.
He was, indeed, one of those thieves who are the scourge and the terror
of the rural districts. He pretended to be a day-laborer, but the truth was,
that he held work in holy horror, and spent all his time in sleeping and
idling about his hovel. Hence, stealing was the only means of support
for himself, his wife, two sons--terrible youths, who, somehow, had
escaped the conscription.
They consumed nothing that was not stolen. Wheat, wine, fuel, fruits--
all were the rightful property of others. Hunting and fishing at all
seasons, and with forbidden appliances, furnished them with ready
money.
Everyone in the neighborhood knew this; and yet when Father Chupin

was pursued and captured, as he was occasionally, no witness could be
found to testify against him.
"He is a hard case," men said; "and if he had a grudge against anyone,
he would be quite capable of lying in ambush and shooting him as he
would a squirrel."
Meanwhile the rider had drawn rein at the inn of the Boeuf Couronne.
He alighted from his horse, and, crossing the square, approached the
church.
He was a large man, about fifty years of age, as gnarled and sinewy as
the stem of an old grape-vine. At the first glance one would not have
taken him for a scoundrel. His manner was humble, and even gentle;
but the restlessness of his eye and the expression of his thin lips
betrayed diabolical cunning and the coolest calculation.
At any other time this despised and dreaded individual would have
been avoided; but curiosity and anxiety led the crowd toward him.
"Ah, well, Father Chupin!" they cried, as soon as he was within the
sound of their voices; "whence do you come in such haste?"
"From the city."
To the inhabitants of Sairmeuse and its environs, "the city" meant the
country town of the /arrondissement/, Montaignac, a charming sub-
prefecture of eight thousand souls, about four leagues distant.
"And was it at Montaignac that you bought the horse you were riding
just now?"
"I did not buy it; it was loaned to me."
This was such a strange assertion that his listeners could not repress a
smile. He did not seem to notice it, however.
"It was loaned me," he continued, "in order that I might bring some

great news here the quicker."
Fear resumed possession of the peasantry.
"Is the enemy in the city?" anxiously inquired some of the more timid.
"Yes; but not the enemy you refer to. This is the former lord of the
manor, the Duc de Sairmeuse."
"Ah! they said he was dead."
"They were mistaken."
"Have you seen him?"
"No, I have not seen him, but someone else has seen him for me, and
has spoken to him. And this someone is Monsieur Laugeron, the
proprietor of the Hotel de France at Montaignac. I was passing the
house this morning, when he called me. 'Here, old man,' he said, 'do
you wish to do me a favor?' Naturally I replied: 'Yes.' Whereupon he
placed a coin in my hand and said: 'Well! go and tell them to saddle a
horse for you, then gallop to Sairmeuse, and tell my friend Lacheneur
that the Duc de Sairmeuse arrived here last night in a post-chaise, with
his son, Monsieur Martial, and two servants.'"
Here, in the midst of these peasants, who were listening to him with
pale cheeks and set teeth, Father Chupin preserved the subdued mien
appropriate to a messenger of misfortune.
But if one had observed him carefully, one would have detected an
ironical smile upon his lips and a gleam of malicious joy in his eyes.
He was, in fact, inwardly jubilant. At that moment he had his revenge
for all the slights and all the scorn he had been forced to endure. And
what a revenge!
And if his words seemed to fall slowly and reluctantly from his lips, it
was only because he was trying to prolong the sufferings of his auditors
as much as possible.

But a robust young fellow, with an intelligent face, who, perhaps, read
Father Chupin's secret heart, brusquely interrupted him:
"What does the presence of the Duc de Sairmeuse at Montaignac matter
to us?" he exclaimed. "Let him remain at the Hotel de France as long as
he chooses; we shall not go in search of him."
"No! we shall not go in search of him," echoed the other peasants,
approvingly.
The old rogue shook his head with affected commiseration.
"Monsieur le Duc will not put you to that trouble," he replied; "he will
be here in less than two hours."
"How do you