After the interview with the queen, Madeleine reconducted Gabrielle out of the park to the tavern where they had left Percenez.
The little man sat at the door on a bench, smoking, his leathery face void of expression. Behind his back was a pack slung by a thong to his shoulders.
'Eh, well!' said he, as the girls approached; 'since you have been away, I have been doing a stroke of work. I have sold a dozen copies of the Moniteur, eighteen copies of Mirabeau's Lettres à mes Commettants, several of the Journal de Paris, and of the Mercure, besides some little pamphlets which I won't name, and which nobody sees but those who are intended to read them. Well! and what has been the result? Ah! David says, Nolite confidere in principibus in quibus non est salus. You have found out what it has taken France many centuries to discover. Better late than never.'
'She has failed,' said Madeleine; 'and I have told her to look elsewhere for help.'
'Ah!' said the colporteur; 'we shall see. Events march like the seasons. Ça ira, ça ira! But till the time comes, what is to be done with our little peasantess? She must return to Bernay.'
'But how is she to return?' asked Madeleine; 'you cannot accompany her.'
'No,' answered the little man; 'I do not think I can. But go she must.'
'And where am I to go to if I do return?' inquired Gabrielle; 'I have no home at Bernay now.'
'Ah!' said Percenez; 'that is awkward.'