But he saluted her with a wave of the sword and left her crushed by the honor.
Recalling that the tailor had boasted of the order which Pitou had paid, she thought he had come home a millionaire.
“I must not quarrel with him,” she mumbled: “aunts inherit from nephews.”
Alas! he had forgotten her by this time. Among the girls wearing tricolored sashes and carrying green palm boughs, he recognized Catherine. She was pale, her beauty more delicate, but Raynal had fulfilled his word.
She was happy, for Pitou had managed to find a hollow tree where he deposited letters for her to take them out in a stroll, and that morning one was there.
Pitou came up and saluted her with his sword. He would have only touched his hat for General Lafayette.
“How grand you look in your uniform,” she said loudly. “I thank you, my dear Pitou,” she added in a voice for him alone; “how good you are. I love you!”
She took his hand and pressed it in hers. Giddiness passed into poor Pitou’s head; he dropped his hat from the free hand, and would have fallen at her feet like the hat only for a great tumult with menacing sounds being heard towards Soissons.
Whatever the cause, he profited by it to get out of the awkward situation.
He disengaged his hand from Catherine’s, picked up his hat and put it on as he ran to the head of his thirty-three men, shouting: