The stable-boy seemed struck with stupefaction.
Pitou, on passing him, called out:—
“Hilloa, Barnaut! good-day, Barnaut!”
The boy, astounded that the helmet and sabre knew his name, took off his small hat, and let fall the halter by which he held the horses.
Pitou passed on, smiling.
But the boy was by no means reassured; Pitou’s benevolent smile had remained concealed beneath his helmet.
At the same moment Dame Billot perceived the approach of this military man through the windows of the dining-room.
She immediately jumped up.
In country places, everybody was then on the alert; for alarming rumors were spread abroad, of brigands who were destroying the forest-trees, and cutting down fields of corn, though still unripe.
What did the arrival of this soldier portend? Was it an attack, or was it assistance?
Dame Billot had taken a general survey of Pitou as he approached. She asked herself what could be the meaning of such country-looking garments with so brilliant a helmet; and we must confess her suppositions tended as much towards suspicion as towards hope.
The soldier, whoever he might be, went straight to the kitchen.
Dame Billot advanced two steps towards the newcomer. Pitou, on his side, that he might not be behindhand in politeness, took off his helmet.
“Ange Pitou!” exclaimed Dame Billot; “you here, Ange?”
“Good-day, Ma’am Billot,” replied Pitou.
“Ange! Oh, good Heaven, whoever would have guessed it! Why, you have enlisted, then?”
“Oh! enlisted!” cried Pitou.
And he smiled somewhat disdainfully.
Then he looked around, seeking for one he did not find there.
Dame Billot smiled; she guessed the meaning of Pitou’s looks.
Then, with great simplicity:—
“You are looking for Catherine?” she said.
“To pay my respects to her,” replied Pitou; “yes, Madame Billot.”
“She is attending to the drying of the linen. Come, now, sit down; look at me; speak to me.”
“Very willingly,” said Pitou. “Good-day—good-day—good-day, Madame Billot.”
And Pitou took a chair.
Around him were soon grouped, both at the doors and on the steps of the staircases, all the servant-maids and the farm-laborers, to whom the stable-boy had quickly communicated the arrival of the soldier.
And as each of them came in, they might be heard whispering:—
“Why, it is Pitou!”
“Yes, ’tis he indeed!”
“Really!”
Pitou cast a benign glance on all his former comrades. His smile to most of them was a caress.
“And you have come from Paris, Ange?” said the mistress of the house.
“Straight, Madame Billot.”
“And how is your master?”
“Very well, Madame Billot.”
“And how are things going on in Paris?”
“Very badly.”
“Ah!”
And the circle of auditors drew nearer.
“The king?” inquired the farmer’s wife.
Pitou shook his head, and gave a clacking sound with his tongue which was very humiliating for the monarchy.
“The queen?”
Pitou to this question made no reply at all.
“Oh!” exclaimed Madame Billot.
“Oh!” repeated all present.
“Come, now, speak on, Pitou,” said Madame Billot.
“Well, ask me anything you please,” replied Pitou, who did not wish to communicate all the interesting news he brought in the absence of Catherine.
“Why have you a helmet?” asked Madame Billot.
“It is a trophy,” said Pitou.
“And what is a trophy, my friend” inquired the good woman.
“Ah! that is true, Madame Billot,” replied Pitou, with a protecting smile; “you cannot know what a trophy is. A trophy is when one has vanquished an enemy, Madame Billot.”
“You have then vanquished an enemy, Pitou?”
“One!” replied Pitou, disdainfully. “Ah! my good Madame Billot, you do not know, then, that we two, Monsieur Billot and I, have taken the Bastille?”
This magic sentence electrified the audience. Pitou felt the breath of the astonished auditors upon his hair as they bent forward to gaze at him, and their hands on the back of his chair.
“Tell us,—tell us a little of what our man has done,” said Madame Billot, with pride, but trembling with apprehension at the same time.
Pitou looked around to see if Catherine were coming; but she came not.
It appeared to him absolutely insulting that to hear such recent news, and brought by such a courier, Mademoiselle Billot did not at once leave her linen.