Soon all was again quiet and silent. Little Barbette understood nothing, except that the wicked man who had beaten her dog without any cause had left, and that she could return to her cooking. She recommenced stirring her soup, laughing softly to herself, but taking care, however, that her dog was close to her side.
Michou entered about a quarter of an hour later. He was fatigued with his day's work, and thought no more of Isidore, whom he believed far away. Besides, if he had given him a thought, the idea would never have entered his head to question Barbette, who was not in a condition to render an account of anybody or anything.
The game-keeper had his bed and Jeannet's also (straw mattresses, laid on trestles) placed in a recess at the end of the room, so that, upon retiring, they could draw the curtains, and be as private as though in another room. He undressed quietly, and stretched himself upon the bed to take his much-needed rest, knowing well that Jean-Louis often came in late, but made so little noise he was never disturbed.
A long time passed. Michou was sleeping soundly, when he heard Barbette call him.
"What do you want?" he asked, raising himself up in his bed.
"Uncle," said the poor idiot, "Jean-Louis has not returned."
"Well, what of that?"
"I am hungry," she replied, for she never ate supper until her work was finished.
"Eat," said Michou. "What is there to prevent you?"