The nun said to Massouligny in consternation: 

“Oh! oh! you will make her ill; pray do not make her laugh like that, monsieur.  Oh! monsieur—­” Then she got up and rushed at Herbon to take from him a full glass which he was hastily emptying down La Putois’ throat, while the priest shook with laughter, and said to the sister:  “Never mind; just this once, it will not hurt them.  Do leave them alone.”

After the two fowls they ate the duck, which was flanked by the three pigeons and the blackbird, and then the goose appeared, smoking, golden-brown, and diffusing a warm odor of hot, browned roast meat.  La Paumelle, who was getting lively, clapped her hands; La Jean-Jean left off answering the baron’s numerous questions, and La Putois uttered. grunts of pleasure, half cries and half sighs, as little children do when one shows them candy.  “Allow me to take charge of this animal,” the cure said.  “I understand these sort of operations better than most people.”  “Certainly, Monsieur l’Abbe,” and the sister said:  “How would it be to open the window a little?  They are too warm, and I am afraid they will be ill.”

I turned to Marchas:  “Open the window for a minute.”  He did so; the cold outer air as it came in made the candles flare, and the steam from the goose, which the cure was scientifically carving, with a table napkin round his neck, whirl about.  We watched him doing it, without speaking now, for we were interested in his attractive handiwork, and seized with renewed appetite at the sight of that enormous golden-brown bird, whose limbs fell one after another into the brown gravy at the bottom of the dish.  At that moment, in the midst of that greedy silence which kept us all attentive, the distant report of a shot came in at the open window.

I started to my feet so quickly that my chair fell down behind me, and I shouted:  “To saddle, all of you!  You, Marches, take two men and go and see what it is.  I shall expect you back here in five minutes.”  And while the three riders went off at full gallop through the night, I got into the saddle with my three remaining hussars, in front of the steps of the villa, while the cure, the sister and the three old women showed their frightened faces at the window.

We heard nothing more, except the barking of a dog in the distance.  The rain had ceased, and it was cold, very cold, and soon I heard the gallop of a horse, of a single horse, coming back.  It was Marchas, and I called out to him:  “Well?” “It is nothing; Francois has wounded an old peasant who refused to answer his challenge:  ‘Who goes there?’ and who continued to advance in spite of the order to keep off; but they are bringing him here, and we shall see what is the matter.”

I gave orders for the horses to be put back in the stable, and I sent my two soldiers to meet the others, and returned to the house.  Then the cure, Marchas, and I took a mattress into the room to lay the wounded man on; the sister tore up a table napkin in order to make lint, while the three frightened women remained huddled up in a corner.