He was in fact thinking about him now when the door of the nursery opened a little way and a small barefooted boy looked timidly in.
“Hallo!” said the young man. “What do you want, mon gars? Come in!”
“Yes, go in, child, and tell us what you want,” commanded de Brencourt, appearing at that moment behind him. “Why, you are from the Ferme des Vieilles, are you not—Le Blé-aux-Champs’ brother?”
The boy, half frightened, half alert, looked up with dark eyes at the gentleman who had him by the shoulder. “Yes, Monsieur le Comte.”
“You came to see if he was back, I suppose?”
“No, Monsieur le Comte. I came on a message,” said the boy, rubbing one bare and dirty foot against the ankle of the other. “I knew they were not back. But soon they will be. There is dust hanging over the road from the sea.”
“Ah, a good scout already,” observed M. de Brencourt, releasing him. “How is that head, du Boisfossé?”
“Better, thank you, sir,” responded Lucien politely. “How soon do you think they will be here?”
The Comte gave an odd little movement of the shoulders, as if to say that the matter did not interest him. He was certainly very strange.
“Well, and what did you come here for, child?” he asked carelessly.