The Royal Life Guard; or, the flight of the royal family - Alexandre Dumas

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was all well up to your knowing that I loved her; then, I was bound to take my share in the gratitude and as you must have gone to some outlay, say for the letters transmitted to her——"

      He clapped his hand to his pocket to prick Pitou's conscience. But the other stopped him, saying, with the dignity sometimes astonishing to appear in him:

      "My lord, I do services when I can but not for pay. Besides, I repeat, these were for Miss Catherine solely. She is my friend; if she believes she is in any way indebted to me, she will regulate the account. But you, my lord, owe me nothing; for I did all for her, and not a stroke for you. So you have to offer me nothing."

      These words, but especially the tone, struck the hearer; perhaps it was only then that he noticed that the speaker was dressed as a captain in the new army.

      "Excuse me, Captain Pitou," said Isidore, slightly bowing: "I do owe you something, and that is my thanks, and I offer you my hand; I hope you will do me the pleasure of accepting one and the honor of accepting the other."

      There was such grandeur in the speech and the gesture in company with it, that vanquished Pitou held out his hand and with the fingers' ends touched Isidore's.

      At this juncture Countess Charny appeared on the threshold.

      "You asked for me, my lord," she said; "I am here."

      Isidore saluted the peasant and walked into the next room; he swung the door to behind him but the countess caught it and checked it so that it remained ajar. Pitou understood that he was allowed, nay, invited to hear what was spoken. He remarked that on the other side of the sitting room was another door, leading into a bedroom; if Sebastian was there, he could hear on that side as well as the captain on this other.

      "My lady," began Isidore, "I had news yesterday from my brother George; as in other letters, he begs me to ask you to remember him. He does not yet know when he is to return, and will be happy to have news from you either by letter or by your charging me."

      "I could not answer the letter he sent me from want of an address; but I will profit by your intermediation to have the duty of a submissive and respectful wife presented him. If you will take charge of a letter for my lord, one shall be ready on the morrow."

      "Have it ready," said Isidore; "but I cannot call for it till some five or six days as I have a mission to carry out, a journey of necessity, of unknown duration, but I will come here at once on my return and take your message."

      As he passed through the dining-room he saw that Pitou was spooning deeply into the preserves. He had finished when the countess came in, with Sebastian.

      It was difficult to recognize the grave Countess Charny in this radiant young mother whom two hours of chat with her son had transformed. The hand which she gave to Pitou seemed to be of marble still, but mollified and warmed.

      Sebastian embraced his mother with the ardor he infused in all he did.

      Pitou took leave without putting a question, and was silent on the way to the college, absorbing the rest of his head cheese, bread and wine. There was nothing in this incident to spoil his appetite.

      But he was chilled to see how gloomy Farmer Billet was.

      He resolved to dissipate this sadness.

      "I say, Father Billet," he resumed, after preparing his stock of words as a sharpshooter makes a provision of cartridges, "who the devil could have guessed, in a year and two days, that since Miss Catherine received me on the farm, so many events should have taken place."

      "Nobody," rejoined Billet whose terrible glance at the mention of Catherine had not been remarked.

      "The idea of the pair of us taking the Bastile," continued he, like the sharpshooter having reloaded his gun.

      "Nobody," replied the farmer mechanically.

      "Plague on it, he has made up his mind not to talk," thought the younger man. "Who would think that I should become a captain and you a Federalist, and we both be taking supper under an arbor in the very spot where the old prison stood?"

      "Nobody," said Billet for the third time, with a more sombre look than before.

      The younger man saw that there was no inducing the other to speak but he found comfort in the thought that this ought not to alienate his right. So he continued, leaving Billet the right to speak if he chose.

      "I suppose, like the Bastile, all whom we knew, have become dust, as the Scriptures foretold. To think that we stormed the Bastile, on your saying so, as if it were a chicken-house, and that here we sit where it used to be, drinking merrily! oh, the racket we kicked up that day. Talking of racket," he interrupted himself, "what is this rumpus all about?"

      The uproar was caused by the passing of a man who had the rare privilege of creating noise wherever he walked: it was Mirabeau, who, with a lady on his arm, was visiting the Bastile site.

      Another than he would have shrank from the cheers in which were mingled some sullen murmurs; but he was the bird of the storm and he smiled amid the thunderous tempest, while supporting the woman, who shivered under her veil at the simoon of such dreadful popularity.

      Pitou jumped upon a chair and waved his cocked hat on the tip of his sword as he shouted:

      "Long live Mirabeau!"

      Billet let escape no token of feelings either way; he folded his arms on his burly chest and muttered in a hollow voice:

      "It is said he betrays the people."

      "Pooh, that has been said of all great men, from antiquity down," replied his friend.

      In his excitement he only now noticed that a third chair, drawn up to their table, was occupied by a stranger who seemed about to accost them.

      To be sure it was a day of fraternity, and familiarity was allowable among fellow-citizens, but Pitou, who had not finished his repast, thought it going too far. The stranger did not apologize but eyed the pair with a jeering manner apparently habitual to him.

      Billet was no doubt in no mood to support being "quizzed," as the current word ran, for he turned on the new-comer; but the latter made a sign before he was addressed which drew another from Billet.

      The two did not know each other, but they were brothers.

      Like Billet, he was clad like one of the delegates to the Federation. But he had a change of attire which reminded Billet that so were dressed the party with Anacharsis Clootz, the German anarchist, representing Mankind.

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      "You do not know me, brothers," said the stranger, when Billet had nodded and Pitou smiled condescendingly, "but I know you both. You are Captain Pitou, and you, Farmer Billet. Why are you so gloomy? because, though you were the first to enter the Bastile, they have forgotten to hang at your buttonhole the medal for the Conquerors of the Bastile and to do you the honors accorded to others this day?"

      "Did you really know me, brother," replied the farmer with scorn, "you would know that such trifles do not affect a heart like mine."

      "Is it because you found your fields unproductive when you returned home in October?"

      "I am rich—a harvest lost little worries me."

      "Then, it must be," said the stranger, looking him hard in the face, "that something has happened to your daughter Catherine——"

      "Silence," said the farmer, clutching the speaker's

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