CHAPTER XXII.
POOR BOBICHEL.
More than two hours had elapsed since the departure of the two spies. The little town of Saint Amé was plunged in profound obscurity. The wind raged down the narrow street, and the roar and rush of the torrent was heard in the distance.
One of the rooms in the inn presented a singular aspect. Caillette lay exhausted on her bed, but she was not asleep; she lay with her eyes wide open thinking of Fanfar. The poor little creature's heart was very sore, but she was too innocent to know why. She felt a vague terror complicated by a certain bitterness. She felt without understanding.
Suddenly, she heard a strange noise. She looked around the room, dimly lighted by a night-lamp. On the floor lay the giantess, who had drank too much brandy. Robeccal had said a few words to her before he went away with the lacquey. She did not seem to understand him, but fell into a doze while he was talking. When she awoke, though by no means herself, she determined to rise from her bed. She did so, and staggered half across the room, then fell on the floor. Half laughing she looked about, and met the surprised, half frightened eyes of Caillette. This was not the first time that the young girl had surprised her in this degraded condition but this time she was more than ever shocked, and shuddered perceptibly.
All at once, the giantess seemed to recognize in Caillette an enemy. She uttered a sound that was almost a growl, and, unable to stand, crawled across the room to the girl's bed.
Caillette recoiled until she could go no further. She wanted to scream, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.
La Roulante saw her terror, and laughed. Determined to torture the child, she began to talk.
"You want your Fanfar, don't you? Let me tell you that he cares not a sou whether you live or die."
She stopped talking for a few minutes, and seemed to be reflecting.