"Has not
Gringuet told you?"
"What?" I said, pretending to be a little deaf.
"Has not--"
I shook my head.
"Has not Gringuet told you?" he repeated, reddening with anger;
and this time speaking, on compulsion, so loudly that the
peasants could hear him.
I answered him in the same tone. "Yes," I said roundly. "He has
told me; of course, that every year you give him two hundred
livres to omit your name."
He glanced behind him with an oath. "Man, are you mad?" he
gasped, his jaw falling. "They will hear you."
"Yes," I said loudly, "I mean them to hear me."
I do not know what he thought of this--perhaps that I was mad--
but he staggered back from me, and looked wildly round. Finding
everyone laughing, he looked again at me, but still failed to
understand; on which, with another oath, he turned on his heel,
and forcing his way through the grinning crowd, was out of sight
in a moment.
I was about to return to my seat, when a pursy, pale-faced man,
with small eyes and a heavy jowl, whom I had before noticed,
pushed his way through the line, and came to me.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312