Péron only looked at her, not understanding either her laughter or her words. But the little girl understood the boy better than the woman; her curiosity being excited, she was eager to pursue her inquiries.
“Who is Père Antoine?” she demanded.
“A good man,” replied Péron promptly, “who would tell you that you were naughty to call me a thief!”
At this juncture Jacques des Horloges appeared suddenly at the door. He had missed the boy and was overwhelmed with amazement to find him angrily confronting the little girl and her governess. The latter recognized the clockmaker at once, and began to understand the child’s appearance in the château. She listened to Michel’s profuse apologies with contemptuous indifference.
“It does not matter as long as M. le Marquis is absent,” she said, with a shrug; “but pray, Maître Jacques, keep the boy from running over the house; we do not allow the village children even in the kitchen for fear of some contagion for Mademoiselle Renée. You will take him away from these rooms at once.”
The clockmaker obeyed without a word, but once out of hearing he muttered loudly to himself, and to Péron’s surprise administered no rebuke. Instead of scolding the child for his intrusion, Jacques seemed to resent intensely Mademoiselle Lucien’s arrogant orders.
“The saucy hussy!” he ejaculated; “and in this house, too! Mademoiselle Renée will take some infection, will she? Pah! ’tis the boy who needs the care.”
Grumbling to himself and holding Péron tightly by the hand, the honest man gathered up some of his tools in the hall and, still leading the child, proceeded through a small door to the staircase which ascended on one side of the Tour de l’Horloge. This was the main tower of the château and was very strongly built of stone; in the older days, before the use of artillery, it would have been capable of a lengthy resistance. The stairs which led to the jacquemart were constructed after the fashion of the early turret stairs, being of stone and winding around the tower, between the outer and inner walls, and so narrow that one resolute man could have held the enemy at bay upon the step. They were lighted high up by narrow, lance-shaped loopholes in the wall and were festooned above with cobwebs; for this spot was seldom visited except when the great clock was wound.
Jacques Michel climbed up slowly, followed by little Péron, for the stairs were too narrow for the two to walk abreast. Half way up they came to a door which opened into the house; here the clockmaker paused, and laying down his tools on the step fumbled in his pockets for a key, which he presently produced and unlocked the door. It opened with some difficulty on its rusty hinges, and he entered the room beyond, pushing the child before him. It was a large apartment, evidently long unused. Three large windows looked out over the terraces and the sloping fields beyond to the Seine. The ceiling was of carved oak, the floor paved with enamelled tiles, the great carved bedstead, inlaid with ivory, stood partially screened by the Arras tapestry of the closet. The benches in the window recesses and the arm-chairs were all beautifully carved, and in one corner of the room was an alcove furnished with a crucifix and prie-Dieu.
Jacques des Horloges stood looking about him with an expression as reverent as if he stood in a chapel. Péron had long ago learned the futility of asking him questions, and he remained silent, only observing everything with a child’s keenness of vision. The quiet and the air of desertion about the place oppressed the boy, but he did not speak. Finally the clockmaker seemed to recollect him and gently pushed him toward the alcove of the crucifix.