For a
long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He
had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters
touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against
the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies
had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his
hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and
involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with
the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the
mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his
struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a
certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms
for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness
so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property.
How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . .
The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his
house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly
smile.
After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of
August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the
alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and
the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands.
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