“Don’t be afraid, sir. I saw the war of ’70,” said Firmin boldly, rising to the occasion.
“Good!” said the millionaire. “I confide the château to you. I trust you with my treasures.”
He rose, and saying “Come along, we must be getting to the station,” he led the way to the door of the château.
The luggage-cart stood rather high, and they had to bring a chair out of the hall to enable the girls to climb into it. Germaine did not forget to give her real opinion of the advantages of a seat formed by a plank resting on the sides of the cart. The millionaire climbed heavily up in front, and took the reins.
“Never again will I trust only to motor-cars. The first thing I’ll do after I’ve made sure that my collections are safe will be to buy carriages—something roomy,” he said gloomily, as he realized the discomfort of his seat.
He turned to Jean and Firmin, who stood on the steps of the château watching the departure of their master, and said: “Sons of France, be brave—be brave!”
The cart bumped off into the damp, dark night.
Jean and Firmin watched it disappear into the darkness. Then they came into the château and shut the door.
Firmin looked at Jean, and said gloomily: “I don’t like this. These burglars stick at nothing. They’d as soon cut your throat as look at you.”
“It can’t be helped,” said Jean. “Besides, you’ve got the post of honour. You guard the hall. I’m to look after the drawing-rooms. They’re not likely to break in through the drawing-rooms. And I shall lock the door between them and the hall.”