When, however, he turned round the bend of the road, Nénesse, who was keeping watch on a heap of stones, caught sight of him. It was Delphin who was with La Trouille. The two were taking turns, the one acting as outpost while the other amused himself.
"Look out!" cried Nénesse; "here's Hyacinthe."
He had seen the whip, and he started off across country like a hare.
La Trouille and Delphin were in the grassy ditch. What a nuisance! So here was her father coming! Still she had her wits sufficiently about her to hand Delphin her five-franc piece.
"Look here," said she, "hide this somewhere. You can give it me back again. Quick, cut away, hang you!"
Hyacinthe came up like a hurricane, shaking the ground as he ran, and brandishing his whip, which smacked with a sound like that of crackling flames.
"Oh, you foul drab, you!" he shouted; "I'll rouse you!"
He was so infuriated, on recognising the rural constable's son, that he missed the lad, as the latter scuttled off on all fours through the brambles. La Trouille, hampered by her petticoats, could neither escape nor plead innocence. A lash of the whip soon set her upright, and brought her out of the ditch. Then the sport began.
"Take that, you dirty troll! See if that won't quiet you!"