Why, of course Grégoire found him transformed into a stout fellow. When he had arrived a year ago he was like a bit of wet string. What a thing it was to travel. And yet he had been in China where people ate rats and dogs, which could not be nourishing food. In a fortnight, on the good meat and foie gras of Périgord, he would develop into a veritable giant. If Monsieur Martin would enter. . . . He held the door open. No one else had arrived by the train.
The omnibus jolted and swayed along the familiar road, through the familiar cobble-paved streets, along the familiar quays, past many a familiar face. They all seemed to chant the welcome of which the old driver had struck the key. Martin felt strangely happy and the tears were very near his eyes. Monsieur Richard, the butcher, catching sight of him, darted a pace or two down the pavement so as to make sure, and threw up both hands in greeting. And as they turned the corner of the hill surmounted by the dear grey tower of the old Abbey, Monsieur le Curé saw him and smiled and swept a salute with his old dusty hat, which Martin acknowledged through the end window of the omnibus.
They drew up before the familiar door of the old white inn. Baptiste was there, elderly, battered, in his green baize apron.
“Mais, mon Dieu, c’est vous?—mais—— ” He wrung Martin’s hand. And, as once before, on the return of Félise, not being able to cope with his emotions, he shouted on the threshold of the vestibule: “Monsieur, monsieur, c’est Monsieur Martin qui arrive!”
“Qu’est-ce que tu dis là?” cried a familiar voice from the bureau.
“C’est Monsieur Martin.”
Martin entered, and in the vestibule encountered Bigourdin.
“Mais mon vieux,” cried the vast man. “C’est toi? C’est vraiment toi, enfin?”
It was the instinctive, surprised and joyous greeting of the two servants. Martin stood unstrung. What had he done to deserve it? Before he could utter a word, he felt two colossal arms swung round him and a kiss implanted on each cheek. Then Bigourdin held him out and looked at him, and, like Grégoire, told him how solid he looked.
“Enfin! You’ve come back. Tell me how and when and why. Tell me all.”