"The hawk is caught," said he to himself. "Well, let him go in peace, that he may receive his last shot elsewhere."
During this time, Perdreau directed his steps towards the game-keeper's house. He easily entered, as the door was only closed by a latch; Michou, in his isolated abode counting more on his gun, which he always kept loaded at his bedside, than on the protection of bolts.
Isidore knew that each night Jeannet came to eat and sleep in the little house; but he also knew that he worked until late in the night, and that there was no risk of meeting him at this early hour.
As he expected, he found the idiot Barbette alone in the house. The poor girl was preparing the soup Jean-Louis was accustomed to eat on returning home, and near her was her dog, who never left her, not even at night, when both went out together to sleep with the sheep.
She knew Isidore, as she had seen him roaming around the country. Except to say good-morning and good-evening, she scarcely knew how to speak, and therefore showed neither astonishment nor fear, as is the case with children deprived of reason, who are not conscious either of good or evil.
Isidore sank into a chair without speaking; Barbette nodded to him, and continued stirring her stew-pan.
"What are you making there?" asked Perdreau, after a few moments' silence.
The idiot burst out laughing, as though the question was very funny.
"Soup," she replied, still laughing loudly.
"Is it for your uncle?"