"I've broke my nose; it's that old dodger's fault for not giving us any supper!"
It was at this crisis that Dubourg appeared at his window. All the servants had come down into the courtyard; and Monsieur Chambertin also appeared on his balcony, in his robe de chambre.
"What's the meaning of all this noise?" he demanded.
"Those are my little Poles."
"Yes, your Poles, who talk French now," retorted Lunel; "I caught 'em stealing in the store-closet."
"He didn't give us any supper," said the boys, "and he was waiting for us in a corner with a whip."
"A miracle!" cried Dubourg; "they have spoken! they understand! That whip seems to have taught them more quickly than any schooling!—Come, my young friends, come up here and let me hear you speak French, and you shall have some supper."
"And you, knave," shouted Monsieur Chambertin to his servant, "if you presume to lay a finger on monsieur le baron's Poles again, I'll have you horsewhipped, and discharge you!"
"They're no more Poles than I am a Turk!" muttered Lunel, as he walked away.
The jockeys went up to their master's apartments, with the chicken and the hare they had rescued from the battle; the servants returned to bed, and Monsieur Chambertin resumed his place beside his wife, who was dreaming that she was in the summer-house, and that they were about to set off a petard.