"Is he shoeing?"
"Why not? Does Monsieur want him to dine with him?" was the ill-tempered retort.
I took no notice of this, but went to the stables. I could hear the bellows heaving; and turning the corner of the building I came on Buton at work in the forge with two of his men. The smith was stripped to his shirt, and with his great leather apron round him, and his bare, blackened arms, looked like the Buton of six months ago. But outside the forge lay a little heap of clothes neatly folded, a blue coat with red facings, a long blue waistcoat, and a hat with a huge tricolour; and as he released the horse's hoof on which he was at work, and straightened himself to salute me, he looked at me with a new look, that was something between appeal and defiance.
"Tut, tut!" I said, fleering at him. "This is too great an honour, M. le Capitaine! To be shod by a member of the Committee!"
"Has M. le Vicomte anything of which to complain?" he said, reddening under the deep tan of his face.
"I? No, indeed. I am only overwhelmed by the honour you do me."
"I have been here to shoe once a month," he persisted stubbornly. "Does Monsieur complain that the horses have suffered?"
"No. But----"
"Has M. le Vicomte's house suffered? Has so much as a stack of his corn been burned, or a colt taken from the fields, or an egg from the nest?"
"No," I said.