It was the distant braying of a trumpet and the floating-up of a haze of dust among the poplar-trees on the Dinan road where the mist had cleared that brought the alert, hawklike glint back into Guicheaux’s eyes. He rested his elbows on the window-sill and craned his head forward, his mouth open as though it helped him to take in sound.
“Hst!”
Hopart leaned his hands on Guicheaux’s shoulders and flattened the thin man against the wall as he peered out in turn.
“Trumpets and banners, God a mercy!”
Guicheaux gave an expostulatory heave.
“Push me through the wall, hogshead! Eyes alive, but here’s a brave show—pennons by the score.”
Hopart’s heavy breathing grew yet heavier as he craned his head forward over Guicheaux’s shoulder.
“The Ermine, the Ermine, or I’m a bat!”
“Beaumanoir! Beaumanoir!”
“All for the love of the captain, I’ll swear. All the cats in Brittany coming to purr and rub against his legs.”