“Oh,” said he, “I wish I had only time to change my double louis, and give two sous to Mademoiselle Catherine, for I am much afraid that this knife will cut our friendship. No matter,” added he, “since she has desired me to go to Paris, let us go there.”
And Pitou, having looked about him to ascertain what part of the country he had reached, and finding that he was between Bouronne and Yvors, took a narrow path which would lead him straight to Gondreville Heaths, which path was crossed by the road which led direct to Paris.
Chapter VIII
Showing why the Gentleman in Black had gone into the Farm at the same time with the Two Sergeants
BUT now let us return to the farm, and relate the catastrophe of which Pitou’s episode was the winding up.
At about six o’clock in the morning an agent of the Paris police, accompanied by two sergeants, arrived at Villers-Cotterets, had presented themselves to the Commissary of Police, and had requested that the residence of Farmer Billot might be pointed out to them.
When they came within about five hundred yards of the farm, the exempt perceived a laborer working in a field. He went to him and asked him whether he should find Monsieur Billot at home. The laborer replied that Monsieur Billot never returned home till nine o’clock,—that is to say, before the breakfast hour. But at that very moment, as chance would have it, the laborer raised his eyes, and pointed to a man on horseback, who was talking with a shepherd at the distance of a quarter of a league from the farm.
“And yonder,” said he, “is the person you are inquiring for.”
“Monsieur Billot?”
“Yes.”
“That horseman?”
“Yes; that is Monsieur Billot.”
“Well, then, my friend,” rejoined the exempt, “do you wish to afford great pleasure to your master?”
“I should like it vastly.”
“Go and tell him that a gentleman from Paris is waiting for him at the farm.”
“Oh,” cried the laborer, “can it be Doctor Gilbert?”
“Tell him what I say; that is all.”
The countryman did not wait to have the order repeated, but ran as hard as he could across the fields, while the police-officer and the two sergeants went and concealed themselves behind a half-ruined wall which stood facing the gate of the farm-yard.
In a very few minutes the galloping of a horse was heard. It was Billot, who had hastened back.
He went into the farm-yard, jumped from his horse, threw the bridle to one of the stable-boys, and rushed into the kitchen, being convinced that the first person he should see there would be Dr. Gilbert, standing beneath the immense mantel-piece; but he only saw Madame Billot seated in the middle of the room, plucking the feathers from a duck with all the minute care which this difficult operation demands.
Catherine was in her own room, employed in making a cap for the following Sunday. As it appears, Catherine was determined to be prepared in good time; but if the women have one pleasure almost equal to that of being well-dressed, it is that of preparing the articles with which they are to adorn themselves.
Billot paused on the threshold of the kitchen, and looked around inquiringly.
“Who, then, was it sent for me?” said he.
“It was I,” replied a flute-like voice behind him.
Billot turned round, and perceived the gentleman in black and the two sergeants.
“Hey-day!” cried he, retreating three paces from them; “and what do you want with me?”
“Oh, good heavens! almost nothing, my dear Monsieur Billot,” said the man with the flute-like voice; “only to make a perquisition in your farm, that is all.”
“A perquisition?” exclaimed the astonished Billot.
“A perquisition,” repeated the exempt.
Billot cast a glance at his fowling-piece, which was hanging over the chimney.
“Since we have a National Assembly,” said he, “I thought that citizens were no longer exposed to such vexations, which belong to another age, and which appertain to a bygone state of things. What do you want with me? I am a peaceable and loyal man.”
The agents of every police in the world have one habit which is common to them all,—that of never replying to the questions of their victims; but while they are searching their pockets, while they are arresting them, or tying their hands behind, some appear to be moved by pity. These tender-hearted ones are the most dangerous, inasmuch as they appear to be the most kind-hearted.