“Catherine,” he resumed, “is a proud minx; she likes sherry. You had better tell her to go and get it at Les Aigues.”
Charles looked at Pere Fourchon with naive admiration, not suspecting the eager interest the general’s enemies took in slipping one more spy into the chateau.
“The general ought to feel happy now,” continued Fourchon; “the peasants are all quiet. What does he say? Is he satisfied with Sibilet?”
“It is only Monsieur Michaud who finds fault with Sibilet. They say he’ll get him sent away.”
“Professional jealousy!” exclaimed Fourchon. “I’ll bet you would like to get rid of Francois and take his place.”
“Hang it! he has twelve hundred francs wages,” said Charles; “but they can’t send him off,—he knows the general’s secrets.”
“Just as Madame Michaud knows the countess’s,” remarked Fourchon, watching the other carefully. “Look here, my boy, do you know whether Monsieur and Madame have separate rooms?”
“Of course; if they didn’t, Monsieur wouldn’t be so fond of Madame.”
“Is that all you know?” said Fourchon.
As they were now before the kitchen windows nothing more was said.