As he spoke, Macabre rose with an effort and went down to the kitchen.
"The captain's growing old!" said Saccage, in Italian, to one of the farriers who stood like statues in front of the door.
"No," was the reply, "he has taken a wife, and that is worse! He thinks of nothing but carousing, and he doesn't know when it's time to march."
Mario, who was studying Latin with Lucilio, understood the substance of this colloquy, and followed the lieutenant and the two troopers to the kitchen.
As soon as he arrived there, paying no heed to the new arrivals who were crowding through the door, he glided to Bois-Doré's side, who was cooking for dear life with Madame Pignoux, saying to himself that the sooner the enemy was at table, the sooner there might be some opportunity to escape.
"Ah! here you are, my child," said the marquis in an undertone; "have they maltreated you?"
"No, no," said Mario, "the captain and I are on the best of terms. Let me help you, father. We can talk while they are not thinking about us."
"Very well, but we must not look at each other; watch me when I speak to the hostess.—Madame Pignoux, give me the butter!" he called aloud; then added in an undertone: "What is going on by the door, my good woman?"
"A lady dismounting from her horse. Don't turn round, she may happen to know you."
"Mustard, boy!" said the marquis, tapping Mario on the shoulder.—"Don't you turn either," he whispered in his ear.—"Madame Pignoux," leaning toward the hostess, "try to see her face."