him, the postmaster treated him rather roughly, without suspecting what terrible hoard of ill-will was accumulating at the bottom of Goupil’s heart at every fresh injury. After having reckoned that money was more necessary to himself than to anyone else, the clerk, who knew himself to be superior to all the bourgeoisie of Nemours, wanted to make a fortune, and counted on Désiré’s friendship to be able to buy one of the three offices of the town, that of clerk to the justice of the peace, one of the sheriff’s offices or that occupied by Dionis. And so he patiently bore the postmaster’s tirades and Madame Minoret-Levrault’s contempt, and he played an infamous part with Désiré, who for two years had left him to console the Ariadnes, victims of the close of the holidays. In this way, Goupil devoured the crumbs of the feasts he had prepared.
“Had I been the old man’s nephew, he would not have made God my joint-heir,” replied the clerk, displaying scant, black, menacing teeth in a hideous sneer.
At this moment, Massin-Levrault junior, clerk of the justice of the peace, joined his wife, bringing with him Madame Crémière, wife of the tax-gatherer of Nemours. This person, one of the sharpest citizens in the little town, had the physiognomy of a Tartar; little round eyes like sloes, under a low forehead, woolly hair, an oily skin, big ears without edges, a mouth with hardly any lip, and a scanty beard. His manner had the merciless humility of a usurer, whose line of conduct rests upon fixed
