“I sent him word that we should come to-day.”
The calèche arrived at the gate, at which stood an old peasant with a rake over his shoulder, who bowed humbly to his new masters when their carriage turned into the avenue.
Chamoureau, bewildered by all that he saw, exclaimed:
“Why didn’t he fire?”
“Fire what, monsieur?”
“His gun.”
“In order to do that, he would have to have one.”
“Wasn’t that a gun over his shoulder?”
“No, monsieur, it was a rake.”
“Oh! I thought it was a gun; a gun would have been better, for he could have fired it on our arrival.”