He had no appetite for his meal, and before putting into effect the plan that was maturing in his mind, he sent his daughters to look for assistance. As he was drinking a glass of brandy to encourage himself, he saw through the window a landau and pair driving up to the town hall. A few moments later he was called by a message from the prefect. Quickly putting on the frock-coat which served for all ceremonious occasions he rushed across to the municipal building. One of the doors of the carriage opened. He saw a black uniform with silver lace and he heard these haughty words uttered by a beardless youth (for the date of the elections was still some time away): “Are you the Mayor of Cognin?” Hat in hand, Simon answered “Yes, sir.” “I represent the prefect. I am on my way to Madame Guibert, to whom I carry the condolences of the government on the occasion of the heroic death of the Commander. You have carefully broken the news to her, I think, as the official telegram ordered you. You managed the whole affair tactfully, I suppose?” “Yes, Monsieur Deputy-Prefect,” stammered the Mayor, ashamed and trembling. “I am a councillor of the Prefecture. I wish you to do your duty by being present at the memorial service with all your councillors. The government of the Republic knows how to honor its loyal servants.” Simon stammered his assent. “That is all, Monsieur Mayor. I shall not require you any more.” And the young messenger from the prefecture, proud of his own important rôle and the dignity with which he filled it, departed behind his two horses, with the haughty, weary air of an old general who has just reviewed his brigade. Randon and Détraz, at the summons of the Mayor, sped over to the inn together. The whole village already knew what was happening at Le Maupas. “We are in for it!” cried Détraz furiously on his arrival. The day before, during all the discussion, he had not opened his lips. “I told you so,” remarked old Randon, who insisted on reminding them of his sagacity. “And so did I,” said the Mayor, not to be outdone. “It is the fault of the schoolmaster and of Pitet.” Détraz, who had no idea of politeness, said rude things about the Mayor. “So you,” he said, “are not the master here then. What do you do at the town hall? Why, you are as limp as a rag. The schoolmaster leads you by the nose, like the smallest boy in his class.” “I!” roared Simon. “I let myself be led by the nose! Just come and see if the schoolmaster is master or not!” Followed by his two councillors, the Mayor still gesticulating, burst into the municipal school. Before Maillard, the sly and wheedling, however, he felt all his zeal grow cold. But Détraz had already pushed himself to the front.