“And so did Farmer Billet. By this time they have killed or burnt all the aristocrats of Paris and Versailles. What do you call it dreadful for? you are not of the higher classes, Mother Billet.”
“Pitou, I did not think you were so bloodthirsty when you started for Paris,” said Catherine with sombre energy.
“I do not know as I am so, now; but——“
“But then do not boast of the crimes which the Parisians commit, since you are not a Parisian and did not do them.”
“I had so little hand in them that Farmer Billet and me were nigh slaughtered in taking the part of Lord Berthier—though he had famished the people.”
“Oh, my good, brave father! that is just like him,” said Catherine, excitedly.
“My worthy man,” said Mrs. Billet with tearful eyes. “What has he been about?”
Pitou related that the mob had seized Foulon and Berthier for being the active agents for higher personages in the great Grain Ring which held the corn from the poor, and torn them to pieces, though Billet and he had tried to defend them.
“The farmer was sickened and wanted to come home, but Dr. Gilbert would not let him.”
“Does he want my man to get killed there?” sobbed poor Mother Billet.