He did not conclude his threat, for just then he observed that a strapping girl, with a basket at her feet, was standing against the corner of the Auberge, in a mighty careless attitude, but doing nothing, so most likely listening with all her ears and soul.  Dard, however, did not see her, his back being turned to her as he sat; so he replied at his ease,—­

“I consent,” said he very coolly:  “that is your affair; but permit me,” and here he clenched his teeth at remembrance of his wrongs, “to say that I will no more be a scullery man without wages to these high-minded starvelings, these illustrious beggars.”  Then he heated himself red-hot.  “I will not even be their galley slave.  Next, I have done my last little odd job in this world,” yelled the now infuriated factotum, bouncing up to his feet in brief fury.  “Of two things one:  either Jacintha quits those aristos, or I leave Jacin—­eh?—­ah!—­oh!—­ahem!  How—­’ow d’ye do, Jacintha?” And his roar ended in a whine, as when a dog runs barking out, and receives in full career a cut from his master’s whip, his generous rage turns to whimper with ludicrous abruptness.  “I was just talking of you, Jacintha,” quavered Dard in conclusion.

“I heard you, Dard,” replied Jacintha slowly, softly, grimly.

Dard withered.

It was a lusty young woman, with a comely peasant face somewhat freckled, and a pair of large black eyes surmounted by coal-black brows.  She stood in a bold attitude, her massive but well-formed arms folded so that the pressure of each against the other made them seem gigantic, and her cheek red with anger, and her eyes glistening like basilisks upon citizen Dard.  She looked so grand, with her lowering black brows, that even Riviere felt a little uneasy.  As for Jacintha, she was evidently brooding with more ire than she chose to utter before a stranger.  She just slowly unclasped her arms, and, keeping her eye fixed on Dard, pointed with a domineering gesture towards Beaurepaire.  Then the doughty Dard seemed no longer master of his limbs:  he rose slowly, with his eyes fastened to hers, and was moving off like an ill-oiled automaton in the direction indicated; but at that a suppressed snigger began to shake Riviere’s whole body till it bobbed up and down on the seat.  Dard turned to him for sympathy.

“There, citizen,” he cried, “do you see that imperious gesture?  That means you promised to dig in the aristocrat’s garden this afternoon, so march!  Here, then, is one that has gained nothing by kings being put down, for I am ruled with a mopstick of iron.  Thank your stars, citizen, that you are not in may place.”

“Dard,” retorted Jacintha, “if you don’t like your place, I’d quit it.  There are two or three young men down in the village will be glad to take it.”

“I won’t give them the chance, the vile egotists!” cried Dard.  And he returned to the chateau and little odd jobs.