One of the men approached the pile of hay. He saw the cat, and gave the pile a careless thrust with his bayonet, shrugging his shoulders as if he felt that his precaution was ridiculous. Nothing moved; the boy’s face betrayed not the slightest emotion.
The Adjutant and his troop were cursing their luck. Already they were looking in the direction of the plain, as if disposed to return by the way they had come, when their chief, convinced that menaces would produce no impression on Falcone’s son, determined to make a last effort, and try the effect of caresses and presents.
“My little cousin,” said he, “you are a very wide-awake little fellow. You will get along. But you are playing a naughty game with me; and if I wasn’t afraid of making trouble for my cousin, Mateo, the devil take me! but I would carry you off with me.”
“Bah!”
“But when my cousin comes back I shall tell him about this, and he will whip you till the blood comes for having told such lies.”
“You don’t say so!”
“You will see. But hold on!—be a good boy and I will give you something.”
“Cousin, let me give you some advice: if you wait much longer Gianetto will be in the mâquis and it will take a smarter man than you to follow him.”
The Adjutant took from his pocket a silver watch worth about ten crowns, and noticing that Fortunato’s eyes sparkled at the sight of it, said, holding the watch by the end; of its steel chain:
“Rascal! you would like to have such a watch as that hung around your neck, wouldn’t you, and to walk in the streets of Porto-Vecchio proud as a peacock? People would ask you what time it was, and you would say: ‘Look at my watch.’”