And now there is one thing we must acknowledge,—and that is, that when Pitou, thus combed and frizzled, dressed in his sky-blue coat and breeches, with his rose-striped waistcoat and his frilled shirt, with his tail and his dog’s-ear curls, looked at himself in the glass, he found great difficulty in recognizing himself, and twisted himself about to see whether Adonis in person had not redescended on the earth.
He was alone. He smiled graciously at himself; and with head erect, his thumbs thrust into his waistcoat pockets, he said, raising himself upon his toes:—
“We shall see this Monsieur de Charny!”
It is true that Ange Pitou in his new costume resembled, as one pea does another, not one of Virgil’s shepherds, but one of those so admirably painted by Watteau.
Consequently, the first step which Pitou made on entering the farm-kitchen was a perfect triumph.
“Oh, mamma, only see,” cried Catherine, “how well Pitou looks now!”
“The fact is, that one would hardly know him again,” replied Madame Billot.
Unfortunately, after the first general survey which had so much struck the young girl, she entered into a more minute examination of the details, and found Pitou less good-looking in the detailed than in the general view.
“Oh, how singular!” cried Catherine! “what great hands you have!”
“Yes,” said Pitou, proudly, “I have famous hands, have I not?”
“And what thick knees!”
“That is a proof that I shall grow taller.”
“Why, it appears to me that you are tall enough already, Monsieur Pitou,” observed Catherine.
“That does not matter; I shall grow taller still,” said Pitou. “I am only seventeen and a half years old.”
“And no calves!”
“Ah, yes, that is true,—none at all; but they will grow soon.”
“That is to be hoped,” said Catherine, “but no matter, you are very well as you are.”
Pitou made a bow.
“Oh! oh!” exclaimed Billot, coming in at that moment, and also struck with Pitou’s appearance. “How fine you are, my lad! How I wish your Aunt Angélique could see you now.”
“And so do I,” said Pitou.
“I wonder what she would say?”
“She would not say a word, she would be in a perfect fury.”
“But, Father,” said Catherine, with a certain degree of uneasiness, “would she not have the right to take him back again?”
“Why, she turned him out of doors.”
“And, besides,” said Pitou, “the five years have gone by.”
“What five years?” inquired Catherine.
“The five years for which Doctor Gilbert left a thousand francs.”
“Had he then left a thousand francs with your aunt?”
“Yes, yes, yes: to get me into a good apprenticeship.”
“That is a man!” exclaimed the farmer. “When one thinks that I hear something of the same kind related of him every day. Therefore—to him,” he added, stretching out his hands with a gesture of admiration, “will I be devoted in life and death.”
“He wished that I should learn some trade,” said Pitou.
“And he was right. And this is the way in which good intentions are thwarted. A man leaves a thousand francs that a child may be taught a trade, and instead of having him taught a trade, he is placed under the tuition of a bigoted priest who destines him for the seminary! And how much did she pay to your Abbé Fortier?”
“Who?”
“Your aunt.”
“She never paid him anything.”
“What? Did she pocket the two hundred livres a year, which that good Monsieur Gilbert paid!”
“Probably.”
“Listen to me, for I have a bit of advice to give you, Pitou; whenever your bigoted old aunt shall walk off, take care to examine minutely every cupboard, every mattress, every pickle-jar—”
“And for what?” asked Pitou.
“Because, do you see, you will find some hidden treasure, some good old louis, in some old stocking-foot. Why, it must undoubtedly be so, for she could never have found a purse large enough to contain all her savings.”
“Do you think so?”
“Most assuredly. But we will speak of this at a more proper time and place. To-day we must take a little walk. Have you Doctor Gilbert’s book?”
“I have it here, in my pocket.”
“Father,” said Catherine, “have you well reflected upon this?”