His cravat was gone, and his torn shirt-collar revealed his muscular throat.
"Where is this fighting ?" demanded Lacheneur eagerly; "and with whom ?" Chanlouineau gave a nervous laugh which resembled a roar of rage.
"They are not fighting," he replied; "they are amusing themselves.

This firing which you hear is in honor of Monsieur le Duc de Sairmeuse." "Impossible!" "I know it very well; and yet, what I have told you is the truth.

It is the work of that miserable wretch and thief, Chupin.

Ah, _canaille_! If I ever find him within reach of my arm he will never steal again." M.Lacheneur was confounded.
"Tell us what has happened," he said, excitedly.
"Oh, it is as clear as daylight.

When the duke arrived at Sairmeuse, Chupin, the old scoundrel, with his two rascally boys, and that old hag, his wife, ran after the carriage like beggars after a diligence, crying, 'Vive Monsieur le Duc!' The duke was enchanted, for he doubtless expected a volley of stones, and he placed a six-franc piece in the hand of each of the wretches.