“It smells good,” the latter said.

“One might swear that it was stewed rabbit,” Lenient added, much amused.

“Will you have a glass of brandy?” the peasant woman asked.

“No, thank you; I only want the skin of the rabbit that you are eating.”

She pretended not to understand, but she was trembling.

“What rabbit?”

The brigadier had taken a seat, and was calmly wiping his forehead.

“Come, come, you are not going to try and make us believe that you live on couch grass.  What were you eating there all by yourself for your dinner?”

“I?  Nothing whatever, I swear to you.  A mite of butter on my bread.”

“You are a novice, my good woman, a mite of butter on your bread....  You are mistaken; you ought to have said:  a mite of butter on the rabbit.  By G—­d, your butter smells good!  It is special butter, extra good butter, butter fit for a wedding; certainly, not household butter!”

The gendarme was shaking with laughter, and repeated: 

“Not household butter, certainly.”

As brigadier Senateur was a joker, all the gendarmes had grown facetious, and the officer continued: 

“Where is your butter?”

“My butter?”

“Yes, your butter.”

“In the jar.”

“Then where is the butter jar?”

“Here it is.”

She brought out an old cup, at the bottom of which there was a layer of rancid, salt butter, and the brigadier smelt it, and said, with a shake of his head: 

“It is not the same.  I want the butter that smells of the rabbit.  Come, Lenient, open your eyes; look under the sideboard, my good fellow, and I will look under the bed.”

Having shut the door, he went up to the bed and tried to move it; but it was fixed to the wall, and had not been moved for more than half a century, apparently.  Then the brigadier stooped, and made his uniform crack.  A button had flown off.

“Lenient,” he said.

“Yes, brigadier?”

“Come here my lad and look under the bed; I am too tall.  I will look after the sideboard.”

He got up and waited while his man executed his orders.

Lenient, who was short and stout, took off his kepi, laid himself on his stomach, and putting his face on the floor looked at the black cavity under the bed, and then, suddenly, he exclaimed: 

“All right, here we are!”

“What have you got?  The rabbit?”

“No, the thief.”

“The thief!  Pull him out, pull him out!”

The gendarme had put his arms under the bed and laid hold of something, and he was pulling with all his might, and at last a foot, shod in a thick boot, appeared, which he was holding in his right hand.  The brigadier took it, crying: 

“Pull! pull!”

And Lenient, who was on his knees by that time, was pulling at the other leg.  But it was a hard job, for the prisoner kicked out hard, and arched up his back across the bed.