Though his face had a little softened toward her, Catherine felt that paternal distrust hovered over her.
Mother Billet was vegetating as formerly; she did not know that her husband harbored suspicion in his bosom, and her daughter anguish in hers.
Pitou, after his glory as captain of the uniformed National Guards, had fallen back into his habitual state of sweet and kindly melancholy. By the postmark on Isidore’s letters he noticed that he had returned to Paris.
He concluded that he would not be long before returning to his estate. Pitou’s heart shrank at this prospect.
Under pretence of snaring rabbits to give his friend more succulent food than farm fare, he haunted the wood until he saw Catherine. She was seeking him, too, for she had a word for him.
He need not trouble about her letters as she would not be receiving any for some days.
He guessed that the writer was coming in person to repeat his vows.
“Have you noticed,” he said, “how gloomy the master has become of late?”
Catherine turned pale.
“I tell you as a sure thing that whoever is the cause of this change in such a hearty good fellow, will have an unpleasant time with him when he meets him.”