"No!" she said, "they don't know that he is here! Don't stir, my young master. They would kill him!"
"Who are these men?"
"A wicked lot! Do you know what arêtes are?"
"No! Wait a moment! Perhaps you mean reitres?"
"Yes, that's the word. My servant Jacques, who has served in the army, recognized them. They are brigands who burn and kill wherever they go."
"But they haven't done you any harm, have they?"
"No; they want food and drink; afterwards God only knows whether they won't burn the house and us with it! That's the way they pay their reckoning."
"Madame Pignoux, my father must escape from here! How can he do it?"
"Impossible at present! They are guarding all the doors, and your papa is too old to jump out of a window. Indeed, what would be the use? The house is surrounded, and they won't even let us go to the hen-coop and the cellar without following at our heels."
"But you must at least hide my father! Ah! I am very sure now that it's he they are after! Where is he?"