The dishes were passed and emptied, as were likewise huge jugs of yellow cider. Every one recounted his dealings--his buying and selling. They gave news of the crops. The weather was good for greens, but somewhat wet for wheat. All at once a drum rolled in the court before the house. Almost everybody save the too indifferent, immediately sprang to their feet and ran to the door, or to the windows, with mouth still full and napkin in hand. After the public crier had stopped his racket, he launched forth in a jerky voice, making his pauses at the wrong time: "Be it known to the inhabitants of Goderville, and in general to all persons present at the market, that there was lost this morning on the Beauzeville road, between nine and ten o'clock, a black leather pocketbook containing five hundred francs and business papers. You are requested to return it to the mayor's office at once, or to Master Fortune Houlbreque, of Manneville. There will be twenty francs reward." Then the man went away. They heard once more from afar the dull drum-beats and the fading voice of the crier. After that, they began to discuss this event, counting the chances Master Houlbreque yet had of recovering or not recovering his pocketbook. And the meal went on. They were finishing their coffee when the corporal of police appeared on the threshold. He asked: "Master Hauchecorne, of Bréauté--is he here?" Hauchecorne, seated at the other end of the table, answered: "Here I am." And the corporal resumed: "Master Hauchecorne, will you have the kindness to come with me to the mayor's office? The mayor would like to speak to you." The peasant, surprised and disturbed, tossed off his drink and arose, worse bent than in the morning; because the first steps after a rest were always especially difficult. He started off, repeating: "Here I am; here I am." And he followed the corporal. The mayor was awaiting him, seated in his official chair. He was the notary of the place, a large, grave man of pompous speech. "Master Hauchecorne," he said, "you were seen this morning, on the Beauzeville road, to pick up the pocket-book lost by Master Houlbreque, of Manneville." The countryman, confused, stared at the mayor, already frightened by this suspicion attaching to him--why he could not understand. "I--I--I picked up that pocket-book?" "Yes, you." "On my word of honour, I didn't even know nothing about it." "You were seen." "They saw me--me? Who's they what saw me?" said Master Hauchecorne. "Master Malandain, the harness-maker." Then the old man remembered, understood, and reddened with anger. "Ah! he saw me, did he, the rascal? He saw me pick up this here string. Look, your worship." And, rummaging at the bottom of his pocket, he pulled out the little piece of string. But the incredulous mayor shook his head. "You will not make me believe, Master Hauchecorne, that Master Malandain, who is a man worthy of all respect, has taken this bit of cord for a pocket-book."