“And M. de Bruneau’s property is confiscated?” continued the inquiring soldier.
“Certainly, and that is the gist of the tale!” retorted his companions, laughing.
“His accomplices both escaped,” said the first speaker,—“one to England, the other, M. Benoit, to Flanders.”
“M. de Bruneau stopped,” began one of the others, “to—”
“To bid his sweetheart adieu!” interjected the gayest member of the party, laughing.
“And was taken on the Rue St. Denis by the provost-marshal and”—the speaker held his hand over his mouth and pointed at the inner room,—“and M. de Nançay.”
“Ventrebleu!” exclaimed the other, “what a pleasant rencounter.”
At this they all laughed loudly, and little Péron, who was still watching and listening, wondered what could be so amusing in a subject which seemed to be the same of which Père Antoine had spoken so gravely. The child’s wondering gaze attracted the attention of the youngest musketeer, and he mistook the boy’s eager attention for a longing after the sweets on the table, seeing that he was neglected and wore a rather shabby coat. The soldier had eaten well and was in the humor to be not only kind but mischievous. He leaned back in his chair and held out a rissole to Péron.
“Here, Master Bluecoat,” he said gayly, “have a tidbit. I have eaten and you are not yet served.”
Péron shook his head, drawing back indignantly, but the musketeer did not recognize the meaning of his repugnance.