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But as she was on the point of leaving for the hospital one afternoon she looked into the kitchen as she passed and saw there a Prussian captain and two other officers, and the icy terror that filled her at the sight, then, for the first time, opened her eyes to the deep affection she had conceived for Jean. It was plain that the men had heard of the wounded man’s presence at the farm and were come to claim him; he was to be torn from them and led away captive to the dungeon of some dark fortress deep in Germany. She listened tremblingly, her heart beating tumultuously.

The captain, a big, stout man, who spoke French with scarce a trace of foreign accent, was rating old Fouchard soundly.

“Things can’t go on in this way; you are not dealing squarely by us. I came myself to give you warning, once for all, that if the thing happens again I shall take other steps to remedy it; and I promise you the consequences will not be agreeable.”

Though entirely master of all his faculties the old scamp assumed an air of consternation, pretending not to understand, his mouth agape, his arms describing frantic circles on the air.

“How is that, sir, how is that?”

“Oh, come, there’s no use attempting to pull the wool over my eyes; you know perfectly well that the three beeves you sold me on Sunday last were rotten–yes, diseased, and rotten through and through; they must have been where there was infection, for they poisoned my men; there are two of them in such a bad way that they may be dead by this time for all I know.”

Fouchard’s manner was expressive of virtuous indignation. “What, my cattle diseased! why, there’s no better meat in all the country; a sick woman might feed on it to build her up!” And he whined and sniveled, thumping himself on the chest and calling God to witness he was an honest man; he would cut off his right hand rather than sell bad meat. For more than thirty years he had been known throughout the neighborhood, and not a living soul could say he had ever been wronged in weight or quality. “They were as sound as a dollar, sir, and if your men had the belly-ache it was because they ate too much–unless some villain hocussed the pot–”

And so he ran on, with such a flux of words and absurd theories that finally the captain, his patience exhausted, cut him short.

“Enough! You have had your warning; see you profit by it! And there is another matter: we have our suspicions that all you people of this village give aid and comfort to the francs-tireurs of the wood of Dieulet, who killed another of our sentries day before yesterday. Mind what I say; be careful!”

When the Prussians were gone Father Fouchard shrugged his shoulders with a contemptuous sneer. Why, yes, of course he sold them carcasses that had never been near the slaughter house; that was all they would ever get to eat from him. If a peasant had a cow die on his hands of the rinderpest, or if he found a dead ox lying in the ditch, was not the carrion good enough for those dirty Prussians? To say nothing of the pleasure there was in getting a big price out of them for tainted meat at which a dog would turn up his nose. He turned and winked slyly at Henriette, who was glad to have her fears dispelled, muttering triumphantly:

“Say, little girl, what do you think now of the wicked people who go about circulating the story that I am not a patriot? Why don’t they do as I do, eh? sell the blackguards carrion and put their money in their pocket. Not a patriot! why, good Heavens! I shall have killed more of them with my diseased cattle than many a soldier with his chassepot!”

When the story reached Jean’s ears, however, he was greatly disturbed. If the German authorities suspected that the people of Remilly were harboring the francs-tireurs from Dieulet wood they might at any time come and beat up his quarters and unearth him from his retreat. The idea that he should be the means of compromising his hosts or bringing trouble to Henriette was unendurable to him. Yielding to the young woman’s entreaties, however, he consented to delay his departure yet for a few days, for his wound was very slow in healing and he was not strong enough to go away and join one of the regiments in the field, either in the North or on the Loire.