But at the same time he glanced round for Catherine. He heard her voice by his side; he had no need to hunt for her, as she had come to him. Great was this triumph.
“Have you not a word for us, Captain Pitou?” she demanded, with a laughing air belied by her pale face; “I suppose you have grown proud since you are a great general?”
“Oh, no,” responded he, saluting, “I am not that, but just a poor fellow who loves his country and desires to serve her.”
This reply was carried away on the waves of the multitude and was proclaimed sublime by the acclamation in unison.
“Ange, I want to speak with you,” whispered Catherine. “Do come back to the farm with mother and me.”
“All right.”
Catherine had already arranged that they should be alone together on the road. She had switched her mother into the train of several neighbors and gossips who held her in talk so that the girl could walk through the woods with the National Guardsman.
“Why have you kept aloof from the farm so long?” began Catherine when they were beneath the hoary oaks. “It is bad behavior on your part.”
Pitou was silent, for it hurt him to hear Catherine tell lies.
“But, I have something else to speak about,” she continued, seeing that he was avoiding her with his usually straight and loyal glance. “The other day I saw you in the copse. Did you know me?”