Courtin, who was still finishing his work of concealment by twisting a few rebellious branches, raised his head quickly and looked at the young man with such fixedness that although the latter had only asked his question out of vague curiosity he blushed to the very whites of his eyes.
"Have you met the she-wolves?" asked Courtin. "I thought I heard that old Chouan's horn."
"Whom do you call the she-wolves?" said Michel.
"I call those bastard girls of the Marquis de Souday the she-wolves," replied Courtin.
"Do you mean to say you call those two young girls by such a name?"
"Damn it! that's what they're called in all the country round. But you've just come from Paris, and so you don't know. Where did you meet the sluts?"
The coarseness with which Courtin spoke of the young ladies frightened the timid youth so much that, without exactly knowing why, he lied.
"I have not met them," he said.
By the tone of his answer Courtin doubted his words.
"More's the pity for you," he answered. "They are pretty slips of girls, good to see and pleasant to hug." Then, looking at Michel and blinking as usual, he added, "They say those girls are a little too fond of fun; but that's the kind a jolly fellow wants, doesn't he, Monsieur Michel?"