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Updated: May 19, 2025
They had once had a quarrel about a halter, and they had borne each other malice ever since. Maitre Hauchecorne was overcome with a sort of shame at being seen by his enemy picking up a bit of string in the road.
His protestations were in vain; he was not believed. He was confronted with M. Malandain, who repeated and sustained his testimony. They railed at one another for an hour. At his own request Maitre Hauchecorne was searched. Nothing was found on him. At last the mayor, much perplexed, sent him away, warning him that he would inform the public prosecutor and ask for orders. The news had spread.
They had formerly had trouble on the subject of a halter, and had remained at odds, being both inclined to bear malice. Master Hauchecorne felt a sort of shame at being seen thus by his enemy, fumbling in the mud for a bit of string.
Maitre Hauchecorne, economical as are all true Normans, reflected that everything was worth picking up which could be of any use, and he stooped down, but painfully, because he suffered from rheumatism. He took the bit of thin string from the ground and was carefully preparing to roll it up when he saw Maitre Malandain, the harness maker, on his doorstep staring at him.
The man claimed that he had found it on the road; but, being unable to read, had carried it home and given it to his employer. The news soon became known in the neighborhood; Master Hauchecorne was informed of it. He started out again at once, and began to tell his story, now made complete by the dénouement. He was triumphant.
Master Hauchecorne, economical like every true Norman, thought that it was well to pick up everything that might be of use; and he stooped painfully, for he suffered with rheumatism. He took the piece of slender cord from the ground, and was about to roll it up carefully, when he saw Master Malandain, the harness-maker, standing in his doorway and looking at him.
There was an all-pervading smell of the stable, of milk, of the dunghill, of hay, and of perspiration that acrid, disgusting odor of man and beast peculiar to country people. Master Hauchecorne, of Bréauté, had just arrived at Goderville, and was walking toward the square, when he saw a bit of string on the ground.
Maitre Hauchecorne, seated at the other end of the table answered: "Here I am, here I am." And he followed the corporal. The mayor was waiting for him, seated in an armchair. He was the notary of the place, a tall, grave man of pompous speech. "Maitre Hauchecorne," said he, "this morning on the Beuzeville road, you were seen to pick up the pocketbook lost by Maitre Houlbreque, of Manneville."
Maitre Hauchecorne was informed. He started off at once and began to relate his story with the denoument. He was triumphant. "What grieved me," said he, "was not the thing itself, do you understand, but it was being accused of lying. Nothing does you so much harm as being in disgrace for lying." All day he talked of his adventure.
Maitre Hauchecorne, seated at the other end of the table, answered: "Here I am, here I am." And he followed the corporal. The mayor was waiting for him, seated in an armchair. He was the notary of the place, a tall, grave man of pompous speech. "Maitre Hauchecorne," said he, "this morning on the Beuzeville road, you were seen to pick up the pocketbook lost by Maitre Houlbreque, of Manneville."
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