“Good-morning,” she called, waving her hand.
“Good-morning,” said Menard, shortly. He did not look a second time, to see her smile fade, for Guerin had not appeared, and he was rapidly losing patience. He walked up and down the wharf for a few moments, while Danton found a seat for the maid and the two talked together.
“Perrot,” he said, “do you know where Guerin was last evening?”
“Yes, M’sieu. He was at the inn.”
“What was he doing? Drinking?”
“A little, M’sieu.”
“Go up there, on the run. If you don’t find him there, come right back, for we can’t wait much longer for anyone.”
Perrot ran up the street and disappeared. In a few moments he came in sight, striding down between the row of houses, holding Guerin firmly by one arm. The young fellow was hanging back, and stumbling in limp fashion. He was evidently drunk. Danton, who had joined Menard when the two men appeared, said, “Heavens, he must have started early!” 87
Some distance behind Perrot and Guerin came a ragged crowd of woodsmen, singing, jeering, and shouting, and bearing broad traces of a sleepless night.
Menard stood waiting with a look of disgust. When they came upon the wharf Guerin laughed, and tried to get out a flippant apology for his tardiness; but Menard seized him before the words were off his lips, and dragging him across the wharf threw him into the water. Then he turned to Perrot, and said, “Pull him out.”