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Old Malandain looked at her knowingly, and appeared very pleased, and then he asked: "What did you not know?" And amid tears she replied: "How was I to know that children were made in that way?" And when her mother came back, the man said, without any anger: "There, she is in the family way, now."
On Tuesday of the following week he went to market at Goderville, prompted solely by the need of telling his story. Malandain, standing on his doorstep, began to laugh as he saw him pass. Why? He accosted a farmer of Criquetot, who did not let hire finish, and giving him a punch in the pit of the stomach cried in his face: "Oh, you great rogue!" Then he turned his heel upon him.
And fumbling in the depths of his pocket, he produced the little piece of cord. But the mayor was incredulous and shook his head. "You won't make me believe, Master Hauchecorne, that Monsieur Malandain, who is a man deserving of credit, mistook this string for a wallet." The peasant, in a rage, raised his hand, spit to one side to pledge his honor, and said:
But the mayor incredulously shook his head: "You will not make me believe, Maitre Hauchecorne, that M. Malandain, who is a man whose word can be relied on, has mistaken this string for a pocketbook." The peasant, furious, raised his hand and spat on the ground beside him as if to attest his good faith, repeating: "For all that, it is God's truth, M'sieu le Maire. There!
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.
Use the very best and strongest you have; I don't mind what it costs." The coach for Havre was ready to leave Criquetot, and all the passengers were waiting for their names to be called out, in the courtyard of the Commercial Hotel kept by Monsieur Malandain, Jr. It was a yellow wagon, mounted on wheels which had once been yellow, but were now almost gray through the accumulation of mud.
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.
To no purpose did he protest; he was not believed. He was confronted with Monsieur Malandain, who repeated and maintained his declaration. They insulted each other for a whole hour. At his own request, Master Hauchecorne was searched. They found nothing on him.
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.
But the mayor incredulously shook his head: "You will not make me believe, Maitre Hauchecorne, that M. Malandain, who is a man whose word can be relied on, has mistaken this string for a pocketbook." The peasant, furious, raised his hand and spat on the ground beside him as if to attest his good faith, repeating: "For all that, it is God's truth, M'sieu le Maire. There!
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