elf up in the
inn.

"They are repeopling the country," jested Loiseau.

"They are undoing the harm they have done," said Monsieur Carre-Lamadon
gravely.

But they could not find the coach driver. At last he was discovered in
the village cafe, fraternizing cordially with the officer's orderly.

"Were you not told to harness the horses at eight o'clock?" demanded the
count.

"Oh, yes; but I've had different orders since."

"What orders?"

"Not to harness at all."

"Who gave you such orders?"

"Why, the Prussian officer."

"But why?"

"I don't know. Go and ask him. I am forbidden to harness the horses, so
I don't harness them--that's all."

"Did he tell you so himself?"

"No, sir; the innkeeper gave me the order from him."

"When?"

"Last evening, just as I was going to bed."

The three men returned in a very uneasy frame of mind.

They asked for Monsieur Follenvie, but the servant replied that on
account of his asthma he never got up before ten o'clock. They were
strictly forbidden to rouse him earlier, except in case of fire.

They wished to see the officer, but that also was impossible, although
he lodged in the inn. Monsieur Follenvie alone was authorized to
interview him on civil matters. So they waited. The women returned to
their rooms, and occupied themselves with trivial matters.

Cornudet settled down beside the tall kitchen fireplace, before a
blazing fire. He had a small table and a jug of beer placed beside
him, and he smoked his pipe--a pipe which enjoyed among democrats a
consideration almost equal to his own, as though it had served its
country in serving Cornudet. It was a fine meerschaum, admirably
colored to a black the shade of its owner's teeth, but sweet-smelling,
gracefully curved, at home in its master's hand, and completing his
physiognomy. And Cornudet sat motionless, his eyes fixed now on the
dancing flames, now on the froth which crowned his beer; and after each
draught he passed his long, thin fingers with an air of satisfaction
through his long, greasy hair, as he sucked the foam from his mustache.

Loiseau, under pretence of stretching his legs, went out to see if he
could sell wine to the country dealers. The count and the manufacturer
began to talk politics. They forecast the future of France. One believed
in the Orleans dynasty, the other in an unknown savior--a hero who
should rise up in the last extremity: a Du Guesclin, perhaps a Joan of
Arc? or another Napol