Bonnebault, in payment of a few francs lost at cards, might very likely tell the secrets he heard at Tonsard’s to Viollet; or he might let them out over his punch without realizing the importance of such gossip. But as the information of the old otter man might be instigated by thirst, Rigou paid no attention except so far as it concerned Plissoud, whose situation was likely to inspire him with a desire to counteract the coalition against Les Aigues, if only to get his paws greased by one or the other of the two parties. Plissoud combined with his duties of under-sheriff other occupations which were poorly remunerated, that of agent of insurance (a new form of enterprise just beginning to show itself in France), agent, also, of a society providing against the chances of recruitment. His insufficient pay and a love of billiards and boiled wine made his future doubtful. Like Fourchon, he cultivated the art of doing nothing, and expected his fortune through some lucky but problematic chance. He hated the leading society, but he had measured its power. He alone knew the middle-class coalition organized by Gaubertin to its depths; and he continued to sneer at the rich men of Soulanges and Ville-aux-Fayes, as if he alone represented the opposition. Without money and not respected, he did not seem a person to be feared professionally, and so Brunet, glad to have a despised competitor, protected him and helped him along, to prevent him selling his business to some eager young man, like Bonnac for instance, who might force him, Brunet, to divide the patronage of the canton between them. “Thanks to those fellows, we keep the ball a-rolling,” said Socquard. “But folks are trying to imitate my boiled wine.” “Sue them,” said Rigou, sententiously. “That would lead too far,” replied the innkeeper. “Do your clients get on well together?” “Tolerably, yes; sometimes they’ll have a row, but that’s only natural for players.” All heads were at the window of the Soudry salon which looked to the square. Recognizing the father of his daughter-in-law, Soudry came to the portico to receive him. “Well, comrade,” said the mayor of Soulanges, “is Annette ill, that you give us your company of an evening?” Through an old habit acquired in the gendarmerie Soudry always went direct to the point. “No,--There’s trouble brewing,” replied Rigou, touching his right fore-finger to the hand which Soudry held out to him. “I came to talk about it, for it concerns our children in a way--” Soudry, a handsome man dressed in blue, as though he were still a gendarme, with a black collar, and spurs at his heels, took Rigou by the arm and led him up to his imposing better-half. The glass door to the terrace was open, and the guests were walking about enjoying the summer evening, which brought out the full beauty of the glorious landscape which we have already described.