“And why so?”
“Because, although you have business at Dammartin, I have no business there,—not I.”
“Yes; but I want you to come to Paris with me. In Paris you will be of use to me. You have good stout fists; and I am certain it will not be long before hard knocks will be given there.”
“Ah! ah!” cried Pitou, not much delighted with this prospect; “do you believe that?”
And he managed to get on Cadet’s back, Billot dragging him up as he would a sack of flour.
The good farmer soon got on the high-road again, and so well managed his bridle, whip, and spurs, that in less than half an hour, as he had said, they reached Dammartin.
Billot had entered the town by a narrow lane, which was well known to him. He soon arrived at Father Lefranc’s farm-house; and leaving Pitou and Cadet in the middle of the farm-yard, he ran straight to the kitchen, where Father Lefranc, who was setting out to take a turn round his fields, was buttoning on his gaiters.
“Quick!—quick! my friend,” cried Billot, before Lefranc had recovered from the astonishment which his arrival had produced; “the strongest horse you have!”
“That is Margot,” replied Lefranc; “and fortunately she is already saddled; I was going out.”
“Well, Margot be it, then; only it is possible I may founder her, and of that I forewarn you.”
“What, founder Margot! and why so, I ask?”
“Because it is necessary that I should be in Paris this very night.”
And he made a masonic sign to Lefranc, which was most significant.
“Well, founder Margot if you will,” said old Lefranc; “you shall give me Cadet, if you do.”
“Agreed.”
“A glass of wine?”
“Two.”
“But it seemed to me that you were not alone?”
“No; I have a worthy lad there whom I am taking with me, and who is so fatigued that he had not the strength to come in here. Send out something to him.”
“Immediately, immediately,” said the farmer.
In ten minutes the two old comrades had each managed to soak in a bottle of good wine, and Pitou had bolted a two-pound loaf, with half a pound of bacon. While he was eating, one of the farm-servants, a good fellow, rubbed him down with a handful of clean straw, to take the mud from his clothes, and with as much care as if he had been cleaning a favorite horse.
Thus freshened up and invigorated, Pitou had also some wine given to him, taken from a third bottle, which was the sooner emptied from Pitou’s having his share of it; after which Billot mounted Margot, and Pitou, stiff as a pair of compasses, was lifted on behind him.
The poor beast, being thereunto urged by whip and spur, trotted off bravely, under this double load, on the road to Paris, and without ceasing whisked away the flies with its formidable tail, the thick hair of which threw the dust of the road on Pitou’s back, and every now and then lashed his calfless legs, which were exposed to view, his stockings having fallen down to his ankles.
1 A sort of dry cake made of flour, eggs, and saffron, which the Parisians eat with their coffee and milk.—TRANSLATOR.
2 Spies,—common informers,—men who live by betraying others. —TRANSLATOR.
Chapter X
What was happening at the End of the Road which Pitou was travelling upon,—that is to say, at Paris
IT is eight leagues from Dammartin to Paris. The four first leagues were tolerably well got over; but after they reached Bourget, poor Margot’s legs at length began to grow somewhat stiff. Night was closing in.
On arriving at La Villette, Billot thought he perceived a great light extending over Paris.
He made Pitou observe the red light, which rose above the horizon.
“You do not see, then,” said Pitou to him, “that there are troops bivouacking, and that they have lighted their fires.”
“What mean you by troops?” cried Billot.
“There are troops here,” said Pitou; “why should there not be some farther on?”
And, in fact, on examining attentively, Father Billot saw, on looking to the right, that the plain of St. Denis was dotted over with black-looking detachments of infantry and cavalry, which were marching silently in the darkness.