Everyone in the neighborhood knew this; and yet when Father Chupin was
pursued and captured, as he was occasionally, no witness could be found
to testify against him.
"He is a hard case," men said; "and if he had a grudge against anyone,
he would be quite capable of lying in ambush and shooting him as he
would a squirrel."
Meanwhile the rider had drawn rein at the inn of the Boeuf Couronne.
He alighted from his horse, and, crossing the square, approached the
church.
He was a large man, about fifty years of age, as gnarled and sinewy as
the stem of an old grape-vine. At the first glance one would not have
taken him for a scoundrel. His manner was humble, and even gentle; but
the restlessness of his eye and the expression of his thin lips betrayed
diabolical cunning and the coolest calculation.
At any other time this despised and dreaded individual would have been
avoided; but curiosity and anxiety led the crowd toward him.
"Ah, well, Father Chupin!" they cried, as soon as he was within the
sound of their voices; "whence do you come in such haste?"
"From the city.
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