"Can I eat Jean-Louis' soup?" she asked.
"Faith," thought the game-keeper, "he must have supped with the Luguets. Yes," said he aloud, "eat, and be off to bed."
Barbette did not wait to be told twice. She emptied the soup into a bowl, swallowed half of it with a good appetite, and gave the rest to her dog.
Then she went out, fastening the latch as well as she could, and Michou turned over in his bed, where he was soon asleep again, and nothing else happened to disturb him, as Jeannet that night did not return home.
XVIII.
The night was terribly cold, and the following morning the sky was dark and heavy from the snow that fell unceasingly; so that our superb wood of Val-Saint, so delightful in summer, looked horrible and desolate enough to make one think of death and the grave, all around was so still and quiet in its white winding-sheet. Michou, who had nothing to do after he sent off the workmen, rose later than usual, and was rather astonished to see Jeannet's bed still vacant. It was the first time the dear boy had slept away from home without giving warning. He knew him too well to think that it was from want of attention: what could have happened?
He thought again of Perdreau, whom he had seen roving around the premises the night before; and for the first time in his life the game-keeper felt a thrill of terror.
"The good-for-nothing is capable of anything," thought he; "he may have watched for Jean-Louis in some out-of-the-way place to harm him."
But after this reflection, he reassured himself by thinking of Jean-Louis' extraordinary strength and great height, which surpassed Isidore's by at least a head.
"That puppy has no more nerve than a chicken," said he. "Jeannet could knock him down with one blow; and as for drawing a pistol, he would be afraid of the noise."