A murmur of satisfaction ran around the group, and such is the power of self-assurance, that three or four of them made a motion to withdraw. But their spokesman, evidently the most intelligent among them, lingered.
“I fear we must require some account of you, citizen,” he said, looking at me apologetically, “and above all of your companion, who appears to me to be an aristocrat.”
“An aristocrat!” I laughed, realizing in a flash that in these circumstances I must take some other line than that I had originally resolved on. “So it seems you cannot tell maid from mistress! She is so little of an aristocrat that she hopes to be vivandière to the regiment which I join.”
“Then, pardieu, you must join ours!” cried one of the rogues, and pressed toward her. “Hey, my dear, look at us—we’re a likely set of fellows. We’ll be kind to you—we’ll do our best to make you happy;” at which his comrades laughed approvingly and gazed at my companion with meaning glances.
“We are already pledged to a regiment at Thouars, citizen,” I protested, pushing him back good-naturedly, though there was red murder in my heart.
“Her clothing is not that of a servant,” said another, staring at her.
“Well, may not a maid don her mistress’s gown?” I demanded. “Especially when she is leaving her for the last time?”
They laughed again at that, but I saw that suspicion had been aroused—faint indeed, but enough to imperil us. Any but these country louts would have seen through the lie at once—that peerless creature a servant, indeed!
“What is your business here, citizen?” queried the first speaker after a moment’s silence during which I noted with uneasiness that none of them made any movement to retire.
“We stopped here to rest,” I explained. “My comrade has injured her ankle. We will spend the night here, since it is impossible for her to go farther. Your regiment passes here?”