sensitive spirit. When Monsieur Goddet had probed the wound and
discovered that the knife, turned aside by a little pocket-book, had
happily spared Max's life (though making a serious wound), he did as
all doctors, and particularly country surgeons, do; he paved the way
for his own credit by "not answering for the patient's life"; and
then, after dressing the soldier's wound, and stating the verdict of
science to the Rabouilleuse, Jean-Jacques Rouget, Kouski, and the
Vedie, he left the house. The Rabouilleuse came in tears to her dear
Max, while Kouski and the Vedie told the assembled crowd that the
captain was in a fair way to die. The news brought nearly two hundred
persons in groups about the place Saint-Jean and the two Narettes.

"I sha'n't be a month in bed; and I know who struck the blow,"
whispered Max to Flore. "But we'll profit by it to get rid of the
Parisians. I have said I thought I recognized the painter; so pretend
that I am expected to die, and try to have Joseph Bridau arrested. Let
him taste a prison for a couple of days, and I know well enough the
mother will be off in a jiffy for Paris when she gets him out. And
then we needn't fear the priests they talk of setting on the old
fool."

When Flore Brazier came downstairs, she found the assembled crowd
quite prepared to take the impression she meant to give them. She went
out with tears in her eyes, and related, sobbing, how the painter,
"who had just the face for that sort of thing," had been angry with
Max the night before about some pictures he had "wormed out" of Pere
Rouget.

"That brigand--for you've only got to look at him to see what he is
--thinks that if Max were dead, his uncle would leave him his fortune;
as if," she cried, "a brother were not more to him than a nephew! Max
is Doctor Rouget's son. The old one told me so before he died!"

"Ah! he meant to do the deed just before he left Issoudun; he chose
his time, for he was going away to-day," said one of the Knights of
Idleness.

"Max hasn't an enemy in Issoudun," said another.

"Besides, Max recognized the painter," said the Rabouilleuse.

"Where's that cursed Parisian? Let us find him!" they all cried.

"Find him?" was the answer, "why, he left Monsieur Hochon's at
daybreak."

A Knight of Idleness ran off at once to Monsieur Mouilleron. The crowd
increased; and the tumult became threatening. Excited groups filled up
the whole of the Grande-Narette. Others stationed themselves b