“There is some news,” said Maillard mysteriously gliding up to the counter. And the Mayor and his assistant gravely shook their heads in concert. It was important that they should impress two honest customers who sat at the end of the room, with their whips slung over their shoulders, sipping absinthe before going out again into the bitter cold of the clear winter evening. After informing himself of the contents of the telegram, the Mayor shook his red head. “It must be done. These Guiberts are people of importance. I’ll put on my frock-coat and go up to Le Maupas.” He had been in the militia during the campaign of 1870 but his regiment never reached the front. From that terrible year he had learned the fear of war and a respect for courage. Flattered at having received an official telegram, he also felt pride in the heroism of his fellow-townsman abroad. He called his daughters to tell them the secret that the schoolmaster’s wife had already told everybody. While he was strutting about, the ferret-faced Maillard looked at him and cackled. “Let’s drink a glass of something,” said the Mayor. “Nothing can be done well without a drink. I shall have time. One always arrives early enough when carrying a message of death. But what do you find to laugh at, you imp of ill omen?” “I was wondering, Mr. Mayor, if we were republicans or not. The Minister treats you like a dog, _you_ the head of the community. ‘Inform the Guibert family!’ Hurry up and do it. For whom is all this fuss? For a lot of reactionaries, who defied you at the town-hall. They are not so particular when there’s only a man of the people concerned.” “He was a commander,” observed the hotelkeeper, who could not forget his respect for rank. “Isn’t a soldier’s blood worth as much as an officer’s?” retorted the schoolmaster in a professorial tone. “I suppose that the equality which is proclaimed on all our public buildings is a lie then? Everything is for the gold lace? The others are just food for powder! It was well worth while having the revolution only to re-establish caste a hundred years later!” It is imperfect education that is responsible for these bitter, envious, aspiring beings, who find it hard to tolerate superiority of any kind. Before his weak boasting Mayor, the little ill-natured man gave free scope to his hatred of the authorities, a hatred which was increased by the coming entry of his son into military service. Simon’s face grew red. It was a sign that his brain was working. “No,” he said, “I can’t get out of it. It is an order.” “Only the Minister of the Interior can give you orders. You aren’t amenable to military law.” “But, good God! Madame Guibert will have to be told.”