This circumstance explained a lot to the old peasant. He asked immediately, with quite an air of assurance, to see the suit which would be given to his son. M. de Rênal opened his desk and took out one hundred francs.

"Your son will go to M. Durand, the draper, with this money and will get a complete black suit."

"And even supposing I take him away from you," said the peasant, who had suddenly forgotten all his respectful formalities, "will he still keep this black suit?"

"Well," said Sorel, in a drawling voice, "all that remains to do is to agree on just one thing, the money which you will give him."

"What!" exclaimed M. de Rênal, indignantly, "we agreed on that yesterday. I shall give him three hundred francs, I think that is a lot, and probably too much."

"That is your offer and I do not deny it," said old Sorel, speaking still very slowly; and by a stroke of genius which will only astonish those who do not know the Franche-Comté peasants, he fixed his eyes on M. de Rênal and added, "We shall get better terms elsewhere."

The Mayor's face exhibited the utmost consternation at these words. He pulled himself together however and after a cunning conversation of two hours' length, where every single word on both sides was carefully weighed, the subtlety of the peasant scored a victory over the subtlety of the rich man, whose livelihood was not so dependent on his faculty of cunning. All the numerous stipulations which were to regulate Julien's new existence were duly formulated. Not only was his salary fixed at four hundred francs, but they were to be paid in advance on the first of each month.

"Very well, I will give him thirty-five francs," said M. de Rênal.

"I am quite sure," said the peasant, in a fawning voice, "that a rich, generous man like the M. mayor would go as far as thirty-six francs, to make up a good round sum."

"Agreed!" said M. de Rênal, "but let this be final." For the moment his temper gave him a tone of genuine firmness. The peasant saw that it would not do to go any further.

Then, on his side, M. de Renal managed to score. He absolutely refused to give old Sorel, who was very anxious to receive it on behalf of his son, the thirty-six francs for the first month. It had occurred to M. de Rênal that he would have to tell his wife the figure which he had cut throughout these negotiations.

"Hand me back the hundred francs which I gave you," he said sharply. "M. Durand owes me something, I will go with your son to see about a black cloth suit."

After this manifestation of firmness, Sorel had the prudence to return to his respectful formulas; they took a good quarter of an hour. Finally, seeing that there was nothing more to be gained, he took his leave. He finished his last bow with these words:

"I will send my son to the Château." The Mayor's officials called his house by this designation when they wanted to humour him.

When he got back to his workshop, it was in vain that Sorel sought his son. Suspicious of what might happen, Julien had gone out in the middle of the night. He wished to place his Cross of the Legion of Honour and his books in a place of safety. He had taken everything to a young wood-merchant named Fouqué, who was a friend of his, and who lived in the high mountain which commands Verrières.

"God knows, you damned lazy bones," said his father to him when he re-appeared, "if you will ever be sufficiently honourable to pay me back the price of your board which I have been advancing to you for so many years. Take your rags and clear out to M. the Mayor's."

Julien was astonished at not being beaten and hastened to leave. He had scarcely got out of sight of his terrible father when he slackened his pace. He considered that it would assist the rôle played by his hyprocrisy to go and say a prayer in the church.

The word hypocrisy surprises you? The soul of the peasant had had to go through a great deal before arriving at this horrible word.