Without saying a word, Thomas handed him the hat, and when Baum gave him the gold piece, Thomas could not close his hand on it. As if quite bewildered, he looked now at the gold piece, now at the giver.
Baum spoke to him earnestly, and told him that he ought to give some of the money to his mother, if he still had one.
"A mother?" stammered Thomas, looking at Baum with a glassy eye. "A mother!" he repeated, as if reminded of something long forgotten.
The gend'arme was touched by the lackey's generosity. "He must be a very fine man," thought he.
Thomas again told them that Irma had been at their hut the night before, and that his mother knew more about her than he did, for she had been alone with her. Baum and the gend'arme said they would like to talk with his mother, and Thomas guided them to the hut.
On the way there, the gend'arme informed Baum of Thomas's family history. "You see, the fellow's a brawler, and has often been convicted of poaching. I've often advised him to emigrate to America, for there he can hunt as much as he pleases. He has a brother in America--a twin brother, but he must be a good-for-nothing fellow; that is, if he isn't dead. He's never yet written a line to his mother or his brother, and has never sent home as much as you could put in your eye. But that's the way they all become, after they get to America. A good many have gone there from my place, but they're all selfish, good-for-nothing fellows."
Baum smiled. He had need of all his self-command. He scarcely spoke a word, for he was nerving himself for the meeting with his mother, and felt annoyed that she, too, was mixed up in this affair. He had enough to think of without that.
The gend'arme knew many stories about poachers and other outlaws and, in order to beguile the time and entertain Baum, recounted some of them. Such stories, however, have one unpleasant feature. It is rather uncomfortable to listen to them, unless one's hands are free from guilt. Baum nodded to him graciously, for it would not do, by look or manner, to betray that he was in the least related to the abandoned wretch who was walking ahead of them. The gend'arme said that he had once been bitten in the finger by a murderer, whom he had helped to arrest, and he showed Baum the scar.
Baum, at last, endeavored to put an end to these terrible stories. He asked the gend'arme what regiment he had served in, and put the question as graciously as if he were about to draw a medal from his pocket and bestow it on the man. Now nothing can be pleasanter than to recount one's military experiences. The forester told of his many exploits, laughing heartily at his own stories, and Baum, seeing no help for it, joined in the laughter. Thomas, who was walking on before, turned around and grinned, and then went on. They reached the hut. It was empty. Old Zenza had disappeared.
"She's looking for Esther, I'm sure," said Thomas.