“Humph!� said Babet, “’tis not so with mine. Can you fix the shoe so I can wear it?�
The shoemaker knelt down and patiently tried on Babet’s boots, while she found fault first with one and then with the other. It was evident that she was in no very good humor. A different customer was this from mademoiselle, and Charlot’s thoughts were not set on pleasing her. His guest had left him to go to St. Cyr and had ostensibly become steward there; but the hunchback was not deceived. He had long suspected that the women of the château were of the new religion, and now he was secretly convinced of it, and in d’Aguesseau he saw a grave danger for them. Charlot was a sincere Romanist too, and his conscience was troubled, but his heart was full of sympathy for misery; he had himself been miserable all his life. In spite of Babet’s bickering, therefore, he found an opportunity to broach the subject nearest his heart.
“Does the new steward suit Madame de St. Cyr?� he asked, as he finally took off the offending boots and put back the old ones on Babet’s large feet.
“The new steward indeed!� said she, with a sniff; “a precious steward!—I have no use for fine gentlemen without money! What did you send him to us for?�
“I send him?� exclaimed the cobbler, in mild surprise. “Mademoiselle asked him to come to see her grandmother.�
Babet tossed her head. “’Twas all your fault,� she said emphatically. “I’ve nothing to say against M. d’Aguesseau himself, but what need have we for a steward? And what does he do at once, this fine gentleman?�
Charlot had seldom seen his friend so out of humor before, and he regarded her in amazement.
“What has he done?� he inquired.
“Fallen in love with Mademoiselle Rosaline,� retorted Babet, bluntly; “and what use is there in that? I tell you, Charlot, I am jealous for mademoiselle; I have no patience with these young fools—they all do it, from M. de Baudri down.�
The hunchback laid down the shoes, the pain in his patient eyes, and the lines deepening around his mouth.