“Come, come!  Pere Fourchon, now behave yourself; you are going to see Madame,” said Charles, noticing how the rubies flashed on the nose and cheeks of the old drunkard.

“I know how to attend to business, Charles; and the proof is that if you will get me out of the kitchen the remains of the breakfast and a bottle or two of Spanish wine, I’ll tell you something which will save you from a ‘foul.’”

“Tell me, and Francois shall get Monsieur’s own order to give you a glass of wine,” said the groom.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Well then, I know you meet my granddaughter Catherine under the bridge of the Avonne.  Godain is in love with her; he saw you, and he is fool enough to be jealous,—­I say fool, for a peasant oughtn’t to have feelings which belong only to rich folks.  If you go to the ball of Soulanges at Tivoli and dance with her, you’ll dance higher than you’ll like.  Godain is rich and dangerous; he is capable of breaking your arm without your getting a chance to arrest him.”

“That would be too dear; Catherine is a fine girl, but she is not worth all that,” replied Charles.  “Why should Godain be so angry? others are not.”

“He loves her enough to marry her.”

“If he does, he’ll beat her,” said Charles.

“I don’t know about that,” said the old man.  “She takes after her mother, against whom Tonsard never raised a finger,—­he’s too afraid she’ll be off, hot foot.  A woman who knows how to hold her own is mighty useful.  Besides, if it came to fisticuffs with Catherine, Godain, though he’s pretty strong, wouldn’t give the last blow.”

“Well, thank you, Pere Fourchon; here’s forty sous to drink my health in case I can’t get you the sherry.”

Pere Fourchon turned his head aside as he pocketed the money lest Charles should see the expression of amusement and sarcasm which he was unable to repress.

“Catherine,” he resumed, “is a proud minx; she likes sherry.  You had better tell her to go and get it at Les Aigues.”

Charles looked at Pere Fourchon with naive admiration, not suspecting the eager interest the general’s enemies took in slipping one more spy into the chateau.

“The general ought to feel happy now,” continued Fourchon; “the peasants are all quiet.  What does he say?  Is he satisfied with Sibilet?”

“It is only Monsieur Michaud who finds fault with Sibilet.  They say he’ll get him sent away.”

“Professional jealousy!” exclaimed Fourchon.  “I’ll bet you would like to get rid of Francois and take his place.”

“Hang it! he has twelve hundred francs wages,” said Charles; “but they can’t send him off,—­he knows the general’s secrets.”

“Just as Madame Michaud knows the countess’s,” remarked Fourchon, watching the other carefully.  “Look here, my boy, do you know whether Monsieur and Madame have separate rooms?”

“Of course; if they didn’t, Monsieur wouldn’t be so fond of Madame.”