"Me, monsieur! The rising! But, monsieur, I never said I was a Chouan! I am afraid of some of them, though not of you, monsieur. They are people who can be dangerous. A rising, you said! Then—"
"Don't talk of it now," said Monsieur Joseph, impatiently.
As he spoke, little Henriette came round the corner of the house with some blue feathers in her hand. Tobie had been out shooting, making havoc among the wild birds, large and small, and sparing the squirrels, with regret, to please his master. Owls, kites, rooks, magpies, jays, thrushes, finches; those that were eatable went into pies, and the prettiest feathers were dressed and made into plumes for Mademoiselle Henriette. She was fond of adorning her straw bonnet with jay's feathers, which, as her uncle Urbain remarked, gave her the appearance of one of Monsieur de Chateaubriand's squaws. "See, papa, what Tobie has brought me," she cried. "Good evening, Maître Joubard! How are your chickens? and when will the vintage begin?"
Joubard would gladly have entered on a lengthy gossip with Mademoiselle Henriette, but Monsieur Joseph, with a shortness very unlike him, brought the interview to an end.
"You must not keep Maître Joubard now," he said. "It is late, and he must get back to the farm. Bonsoir, Joubard."
The farmer waved his large hat. "Bonsoir, la compagnie!" and with a smile departed.
As he passed the stables, Tobie, still carrying his gun, slipped out and joined him.
"Anything wrong with the master, Tobie?" said the old man, curiously. "His tongue has an edge to it this evening; he is not like himself."
"I think I know," said Tobie, and they strolled together up the lane.
"Go to bed, my child," said Monsieur Joseph to his little daughter. "It is too damp now for you to be out-of-doors. Yes, very pretty feathers. Good night, mon petit chou!"