“I was out early this morning, and found your under-keepers still sleeping.”
“At what hour?” said the late soldier, anxiously.
“Half-past seven.”
Michaud gave a half-roguish glance at the general.
“By what gate did monsieur leave the park?” he asked.
“By the gate of Conches. The keeper, in his night-shirt, looked at me through the window,” replied Blondet.
“Gaillard had probably just gone to bed,” answered Michaud. “You said you were out early, and I thought you meant day-break. If my man were at home at that time, he must have been ill; but at half-past seven he was sure to be in bed. We are up all night,” added Michaud, after a slight pause, replying to a surprised look on the countess’s face, “but our watchfulness is often wasted. You have just given twenty-five francs to a man who, not an hour ago, was quietly helping to hide the traces of a robbery committed upon you this very morning. I came to speak to you about it, general, when you have finished breakfast; for something will have to be done.”
“You are always for maintaining the right, my dear Michaud, and ‘summum jus, summum injuria.’ If you are not more tolerant, you will get into trouble, so Sibilet here tells me. I wish you could have heard Pere Fourchon just now; the wine he had been drinking made him speak out.”
“He frightened me,” said the countess.
“He said nothing I did not know long ago,” replied the general.