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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 remained speechless and grew more and more uneasy. Why had they called him "great rogue"? When seated at table in Jourdain's tavern he began again to explain the whole affair. A horse dealer of Montivilliers shouted at him: "Get out, get out, you old scamp! I know all about your old string." Hauchecorne stammered: "But since they found it again, the pocketbook!"
Maitre Hauchecorne remained speechless and grew more and more uneasy. Why had they called him "great rogue"? When seated at table in Jourdain's tavern he began again to explain the whole affair. A horse dealer of Montivilliers shouted at him: "Get out, get out, you old scamp! I know all about your old string." Hauchecorne stammered: "But since they found it again, the pocketbook!"
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.
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.
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.
When he was seated at the table, in Jourdain's Inn, he set about explaining the affair once more. A horse-trader from Montvilliers called out to him: "Nonsense, nonsense, you old dodger! I know all about your string!" "But they've found the wallet!" faltered Hauchecorne. "None of that, old boy; there's one who finds it, and there's one who carries it back.
Then they all began to talk of this incident, reckoning up the chances which Maitre Houlbreque had of finding or of not finding his pocketbook again. The meal went on. They were finishing their coffee when the corporal of gendarmes appeared on the threshold. He asked: "Is Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, here?"
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