“Bavois,” commanded the officer, “you will take half a dozen men and search this house from top to bottom. You are an old fox that knows a thing or two. If there is any hiding-place here, you will be sure to discover it; if anyone is concealed here, you will bring the person to me. Go, and make haste!”
The corporal departed on his mission; the captain resumed his questions.
“And now,” said he, turning to Maurice, “what have you been doing this evening?”
The young man hesitated for an instant; then, with well-feigned indifference, replied:
“I have not put my head outside the door this evening.”
“Hum! that must be proved. Let me see your hands.”
The soldier’s tone was so offensive that Maurice felt the angry blood mount to his forehead. Fortunately, a warning glance from the abbe made him restrain his wrath.
He offered his hands to the inspection of the captain, who examined them carefully, outside and in, and finally smelled them.
“Ah! these hands are too white and smell too sweet to have been dabbling in powder.”
He was evidently surprised that this young man should have had so little courage as to remain in the shelter of the fireside while his father was leading the peasants on to battle.