“You are here for the treasure which the hussars are bringing from Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, to hand over to the dragoons who were awaiting them at St. Menehould.”
“If you are one of us, monsieur,” said the groom, touching his hat, “I have no reason to refuse telling you to whom the horses belong. They are the property of the Duke of Choiseul.”
“You have said well,” said Drouet, laughing; “and we were going to quarrel with one of our friends.”
“If you are a friend, monsieur, you might tell me whom you are, as I have told you about the horses?”
“You are right. I have no motive for concealing my name. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at St. Menehould.”
“As you have said, you are probably one of us.”
At this moment, Father Gautier stepped out from the kitchen door.
M. Drouet thought he had better say no more to the groom, for fear of exciting suspicion.
“Ah, ha! Father Gautier,” said he; “your kitchen appears to be in full blow.”