He nodded smilingly to the two girls as they curtsied, whilst Madame bade them come nearer the fire, as they looked cold.
"It is certainly chilly," replied Père Mouet. "Henri Joustoc says it will be a winter of great severity. But I do not heed the croakers. Always take the days as they come, and leave the future to the bon Dieu. That is the secret of happiness."
The salon door was flung open most unceremoniously as he spoke, and in rushed Guillaume, the butler.
It was evident that the poor man was too excited to remember the ceremonies, on which both he and his mistress set such store.
"Ah! ah! M'd'me," he gasped. "Ah! ah! It is Jean Marie who brings news."
Madame de Quernais had risen—not hurriedly, but with all the grave dignity which was her birthright.
As for Père Mouet, he had already advanced to Guillaume's side.
"Peace, my son," he commanded gently. "You will alarm Mesdames. If there is news, it will be told more quickly if you compose yourself."
The quiet words certainly had a soothing effect on poor Guillaume, though his eyes continued to roll wildly.
"It is the Terror," he groaned. "Jean M'rie brought the news. There are men from Paris, men of Brittany, who come with evil tongues to bid our people rise and murder their masters. Ohé, they are very clever, clever as Monsieur Satan himself, and the fools listen to them. Already they cry, 'Vive la nation,' 'Vive la guillotine!' 'Vive liberté!'"