"But we'll profit by it to get rid of the Parisians.
I have said I thought I recognized the painter; so pretend that I am expected to die, and try to have Joseph Bridau arrested.

Let him taste a prison for a couple of days, and I know well enough the mother will be off in a jiffy for Paris when she gets him out.

And then we needn't fear the priests they talk of setting on the old fool." When Flore Brazier came downstairs, she found the assembled crowd quite prepared to take the impression she meant to give them.

She went out with tears in her eyes, and related, sobbing, how the painter, "who had just the face for that sort of thing," had been angry with Max the night before about some pictures he had "wormed out" of Pere Rouget.
"That brigand--for you've only got to look at him to see what he is--thinks that if Max were dead, his uncle would leave him his fortune; as if," she cried, "a brother were not more to him than a nephew! Max is Doctor Rouget's son.

The old one told me so before he died!" "Ah! he meant to do the deed just before he left Issoudun; he chose his time, for he was going away to-day," said one of the Knights of Idleness.
"Max hasn't an enemy in Issoudun," said another.
"Besides, Max recognized the painter," said the Rabouilleuse.
"Where's that cursed Parisian?
Let us find him!" they all cried.
"Find him ?" was the answer, "why, he left Monsieur Hochon's at daybreak." A Knight of Idleness ran off at once to Monsieur Mouilleron.