# Nêne/Part 1/Chapter 9
### CHAPTER IX

WHO said that?" asked Trooper of his mother.
Madame Clarandeau replied:
"I don't know. … I only know that people are talking about it and it worries me."
"Who told you that people are talking about it?"
The old woman grew nervous.
"Never mind about that, boy. I can attend to such things better than you; there must be no fuss over this."
She knew her son. Gentle and sensible when sober, he became quarrelsome after drinking; and with his enormous strength, an accident was always possible.…
She insisted:
"If you take a hand in this, you will only make things worse."
He shook his great head.
"Mother, I haven't been drinking, you can look at me. … I swear to you there'll be no drink until I have ploughed this furrow. So you needn't be afraid. Who said that Madeleine was living in sin with Michael Corbier, of the Moulinettes?"
"What'll you do to him if you get to know?"
"I'll talk to him. I know how. All you need to do to stop a slanderer's tongue is to talk to him in the right way."
"Supposing it's a woman?"
"Oh, well … if it's a woman, you can deal with her, but if it's a man, you leave him to me. Who told you about this slander?"
Madame Clarandeau had to give in.
"Who told me about it? Marie Fantou, this morning before the rosary prayers, and it seems that it came from a farm-hand at the Moulinettes, a fellow named Boiseriot, a Catholic."
"Boiseriot, you say? All right. Good-bye, mother. I'll see you again next Sunday."
"Good-bye, and keep cool, whatever you do!"
Upon the threshold he turned around.
"Don't worry. I haven't been drinking and I shan't go to the inn. Good-bye."
From Coudray to St. Ambroise, Trooper almost ran. He was thinking.
"Boiseriot! I don't know him, but he must be from Chantepie. Violette was telling me one day about a fellow of that name. It's Sunday to-day— Bet you I'll find that mass-hound at St. Ambroise."
When he had reached the village, he said to himself:
"Mother was right: Better not make a fuss. I don't know him. I might question these fellows who are playing bowls, but they might suspect something. I'm not so simple!"
He entered a tobacco shop, bought a cigar and dawdled over lighting it, leaning against the door and muttering,
"Well, well!"
The storekeeper asked:
"What are you looking at, Mr. Clarandeau?"
"Nothing. I thought that was Boiseriot, that fellow passing by."
"Boiseriot?"
"Yes, the farm-hand at the Moulinettes."
The wife of the storekeeper explained to her husband:
"Yes, you know, the little one who chews.… He was here only a minute ago. He just left."
"Thank you very much," said Trooper.
He went out quickly and up the street.
"You wait, you dog, with your quid! Ah, there you are! You weren't far off. I'll give you something to think of on the way!"
Having caught up with the man, Trooper said to him:
"Is your name Boiseriot?"
"At your service."
"Then I've a few things to say to you that won't take long."
Boiseriot's eyes wavered uncertainly.
"What's the matter with you*?" said he.
"I was just going to tell you. You don't know me, do you?"
"Oh, yes; you are a Clarandeau, the one whom they call Trooper. You have a girl at Chantepie—Violette, the seamstress?"
"Boiseriot, that is none of your business."
"Pardon me, Violette is my god-child."
Trooper gave a start, which did not escape his companion's notice. They walked on a little, and then:
"Boiseriot, you've been talking about my sister and the man she works for. And I am angry. I heard of it only to-day. If I were drunk, I'd be likely to make trouble for you."
The other, realizing the effort he was making to control himself, faced about.
"I'm not afraid of any man."
"You can say that! You're not big enough for me to take you on. If I had been drinking, I wouldn't say—when I'm lit, I don't always look so close—who happens to get under my fists."
"Does that happen often?"
"No oftener than I can help; sometimes, just the same, I get into bad company."
"Does Violette know about your ways?"
Boiseriot glanced up sideways, waiting for an answer. Trooper shook his big body and let the words come fast:
"Never mind about that! You have—— Somebody has talked about my sister. For this once, let it pass! If it happens again, I'll get hold of the slanderer, whether he be Peter or Paul, Dissenter or Catholic or Protestant, friend or stranger or enemy—and I'll knock him down and drag him through the streets till his head cracks! Good-bye!"
Boiseriot began to laugh.
"You're strong but stupid. Why should I talk about your sister, when you are almost my god-son? And do you think I would want to make trouble with my boss? Go and ask him if we ever had a word of difference between us."
"What I've said I've said; and you may tell everybody else. Good-bye!"
"So long! Take the trouble to find out who your friends are."
They parted, Boiseriot, entirely over his fright, smiled in an ugly fashion, and Trooper walked slowly without turning around, his heart in a turmoil.