Once upstairs, Macquart ordered her to fetch her husband.
"My husband is not here," she said with perfect calmness; "he is
travelling on business. He took the diligence for Marseilles at six
o'clock this evening."
Antoine at this declaration, which Felicite uttered in a clear voice,
made a gesture of rage. He rushed through the drawing-room, and then
into the bedroom, turned the bed up, looked behind the curtains and
under the furniture. The four big fellows assisted him. They searched
the place for a quarter of an hour. Felicite meantime quietly seated
herself on the drawing-room sofa, and began to fasten the strings of her
petticoats, like a person who has been surprised in her sleep and has
not had time to dress properly.
"It's true then, he's run away, the coward!" Macquart muttered on
returning to the drawing-room.
Nevertheless, he continued to look about him with a suspicious air. He
felt a presentiment that Pierre could not have given up the game at the
decisive moment. At last he approached Felicite, who was yawning: "Show
us the place where your husband is hidden," he said to her, "and I
promise no harm shall be done to him."
"I have told you the truth," she replied impatiently. "I can't deliver
my husband to you, as he's not here. You have searched everywhere,
haven't you? Then leave me alone now."
Macquart, exasperated by her composure, was just going to strike her,
when a rumbling noise arose from the street.
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