Many times Luquin turned his head, to catch a sight of the neat ankle and little foot, which cleared the rough rocks so nimbly, but Stephanette, with a threatening gesture, and queen-like dignity, arrested the curiosity of the ex-artilleryman, who was compelled to accelerate his gait in obedience to the oft-repeated words:
“Go on, Luquin, go on!”
While the lovers are descending the escarpment of the cape of l’Aigle, we will say a few words about Luquin Trinquetaille. He was a robust fellow of thirty years, brown and sunburnt. He had a manly figure, a frank, ingenuous manner, somewhat vain; he wore a costume which marked both the soldier and the sailor,—a military coat, and Provencal breeches, fastened around his waist by the belt which held his broadsword.
The air was cold, and over his coat he wore a mantle, the seams of which were braided in red and blue wool; the hood half covered his forehead, and under it could be seen a forest of black curls.
When they had reached the foot of the mountain, Stephanette, in spite, of her agility, felt the need of rest.
Luquin, delighted with an opportunity for conversation, carefully sought a spot where she could be comfortably seated.
When he had found it, he gallantly took off his mantle and spread it out on the rock, so that Stephanette could have a seat with a back; then, crossing his hands on the head of his cane, and leaning his chin on his hands, he contemplated Stephanette with a calm and happy adoration.
When she had recovered from the effects of her precipitous descent, Stephanette turned to Luquin, and said, with the air of a spoiled child, and a woman sure of her despotic domination:
“Why, Luquin, did you come to the watchman’s cabin for me, when I told you to wait for me at the foot of the mountain?”
Luquin, preoccupied with admiration for Stephanette’s fine colour, which the walk had imparted, did not reply.