edy it; and I promise you the
consequences will not be agreeable."

Though entirely master of all his faculties the old scamp assumed an
air of consternation, pretending not to understand, his mouth agape, his
arms describing frantic circles on the air.

"How is that, sir, how is that?"

"Oh, come, there's no use attempting to pull the wool over my eyes; you
know perfectly well that the three beeves you sold me on Sunday last
were rotten--yes, diseased, and rotten through and through; they must
have been where there was infection, for they poisoned my men; there are
two of them in such a bad way that they may be dead by this time for all
I know."

Fouchard's manner was expressive of virtuous indignation. "What, my
cattle diseased! why, there's no better meat in all the country; a sick
woman might feed on it to build her up!" And he whined and sniveled,
thumping himself on the chest and calling God to witness he was an
honest man; he would cut off his right hand rather than sell bad
meat. For more than thirty years he had been known throughout the
neighborhood, and not a living soul could say he had ever been wronged
in weight or quality. "They were as sound as a dollar, sir, and if your
men had the belly-ache it was because they ate too much--unless some
villain hocussed the pot--"

And so he ran on, with such a flux of words and absurd theories that
finally the captain, his patience exhausted, cut him short.

"Enough! You have had your warning; see you profit by it! And there
is another matter: we have our suspicions that all you people of this
village give aid and comfort to the francs-tireurs of the wood of
Dieulet, who killed another of our sentries day before yesterday. Mind
what I say; be careful!"

When the Prussians were gone Father Fouchard shrugged his shoulders with
a contemptuous sneer. Why, yes, of course he sold them carcasses that
had never been near the slaughter house; that was all they would ever
get to eat from him. If a peasant had a cow die on his hands of the
rinderpest, or if he found a dead ox lying in the ditch, was not the
carrion good enough for those dirty Prussians? To say nothing of the
pleasure there was in getting a big price out of them for tainted meat
at which a dog would turn up his nose. He turned and winked slyly
at Henriette, who was glad to have her fears dispelled, muttering
triumphantly:

"Say, little girl, what do you think now of the wicked people who go
about circu