Oh! That’s for sure – I’ll beat you black and blue.’

Then he looked for his watch in his fob-pocket and it wasn’t there, and that was the last straw. Because, without his watch, without his snuff-box and without Jacques, he didn’t know what to do. They were the three mainstays of his life which was spent in taking snuff, looking at the time, and questioning Jacques, which he did in every possible combination. Deprived of his watch he was reduced to his snuff-box, which he kept opening and shutting every minute, like I do when I am bored. The amount of snuff left in my snuff-box at night is in direct proportion to the amusement or in indirect proportion to the boredom of my day. I beg you, Reader, to familiarize yourself with this manner of speaking which is taken from geometry, because I find it precise and shall use it often.

Well then, have you had enough of the master? As the valet is not coming to you, would you rather we went to him? Poor Jacques! At the very moment we were speaking of him Jacques was sorrowfully meditating: ‘So it was written up above that in the same day I’d be arrested as a highwayman, be on the point of being taken to prison and be accused of having seduced a girl.’

On his slow way back to… the château? No, the place where they had spent the previous night, he passed by one of those itinerant pedlars known as ‘porteballes’, who called out to him: ‘Monsieur le Chevalier, garters, belts, watch-straps, snuff-boxes in the utmost good taste, all genuine, rings, fob-seals, a watch, Monsieur, a fine watch with engraving, double action, good as new.’

Jacques replied: ‘I’m looking for one but it’s not yours’, and carried on his way slowly. As he was going, he thought he could see that it was written up above that the watch this man had offered him was his master’s. He retraced his steps and said to the pedlar: ‘Friend, show me your gold watch, I have a fancy it might suit me.’

‘Indeed,’ said the pedlar, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised. It’s a very beautiful watch, made by Julien Le Roi. I’ve only had it a moment. I bought it for next to nothing and will do a good price on it. I like little repeated profits, but these are hard times and I won’t have a bargain like this for the next three months. You seem a fine chap and I would rather see you profit than another…’

As he was speaking the pedlar had put his bundle on the ground, opened it up and pulled out the watch, which Jacques recognized immediately without any surprise, because, since he was never in a hurry, he was rarely surprised. He had a good look at the watch.

‘Yes,’ he said to himself, ‘that’s it.’

To the pedlar: ‘You’re right. It is beautiful, very beautiful, and I know it’s a good watch…’

Then, putting it in his fob-pocket, he said to the pedlar: ‘Thank you very much, my friend.’

‘What do you mean, thank you very much?’

‘Yes, it’s my master’s watch.’

‘I don’t know your master. That watch is mine. I bought it and paid for it fair and square…’, and grabbing Jacques by the collar, he tried to take the watch back. Jacques went to his horse, took one of his pistols and held it against the pedlar’s chest: ‘Get back,’ he said to him, ‘or you’re a dead man…’

The frightened pedlar let go. Jacques got back on his horse and started slowly back towards the town, saying to himself: ‘That’s the watch back. Now let’s see about our purse…’

The pedlar hurriedly shut up his pack, put it on his shoulders and followed Jacques, shouting: ‘Thief! Thief! Murderer! Help! Help me! Help me!’

It was harvest time and the fields were full of workers. They all left their sickles and crowded around the man, asking him: ‘Where is the thief?’ ‘Where is the murderer?’

‘There he is, there he is, over there.’

‘What! That man riding slowly towards the town gate?’

‘That’s him.’

‘Come on, you’re crazy. That’s not the way a thief behaves.’

‘He’s one, he’s a thief, I tell you. He took a gold watch from me by force.’

These people did not know what to believe, the cries of the pedlar or the calm pace of Jacques.

But the pedlar added: ‘My friends, I will be ruined if you don’t help me. It’s worth thirty louis if it’s worth a brass farthing. Help me. He’s carrying off my watch and he’s only got to spur his horse and my watch will be lost…’

Even if Jacques was out of earshot of the shouting he could easily see the crowd, but still he went no faster. The pedlar had persuaded the peasants to run after Jacques in the hope of a reward. There was a crowd of men, women and children running after him shouting: ‘Thief! Thief! Murderer!’ with the pedlar following as closely as his burden would permit shouting: ‘Thief! Thief! Murderer!’

They entered the town, because it was in a town that Jacques and his master had spent the previous night, I remember it now. The townspeople left their dwellings and joined the peasants and the pedlar, all going along shouting in unison ‘Thief! Thief! Murderer!’ and they all caught up with Jacques at the same moment. The pedlar threw himself on to Jacques, who lashed out at him with a kick which knocked him to the ground but did not stop him shouting: ‘Rogue, rascal, scoundrel, give me back my watch! You’ll give it back to me and you’ll still be hanged for it…’

Jacques retained his composure, addressed the crowd, which was growing larger every moment, and said: ‘There is a magistrate here.