“You see, Mam’zelle Fleurette,” he began, “it’s this way. Those scurvy knaves—I mean the soldiers of the Republic—were full of choler because they had not found enough to steal at the château when they arrested poor M’sieu’ de Frontenac. At first, it seems, they thought that Madame and Mademoiselle had taken their valuables away with them when they ran away; but later on something must have aroused their suspicions, or else the same kind of fool as Aristide here must have got talking. Anyway, they seem to have got the idea that Amédé Colombe had hidden Madame’s valuables away somewhere and—”
“Madame’s valuables!” Fleurette exclaimed, trying to hide something of the excitement which was causing her heart to thump furiously. “They thought that Amédé⸺?”
“Why, yes!” M’sieu’ Duflos replied to her half-formulated query. “And unfortunately—”
“What?”
“Well! They found Madame’s valuables—”
But the worthy butcher got no further with his story. Without another word and swift as lightning, Fleurette had turned on her heel, and the next moment she was speeding across the marketplace in the direction of the Rue Haute, whilst M’sieu’ Duflos was left gazing in ludicrous perplexity at old Louise.
“What’s the matter with the child?” he queried, and thoughtfully passed his hand through his harsh, bristly hair. “I thought she knew.”
Old Louise shrugged her shoulders.
“She only knew that the lad had been arrested,” she said, “but she had not heard about Madame’s valuables being found in the Colombe’s cart-shed. I was just able to stop Adèle telling her. She is so fond of M’sieu’ Amédé.” Louise added with a sigh: “Oh! how I wish her father were here.”
M’sieu’ Duflos was watching Fleurette’s trim little figure speeding across the square and then disappearing round the corner of the Rue Haute.
“She’s run over to the épicerie,” he commented dryly. “The Colombes are fond of her. They’ll be able to comfort one another. Come in and have a petit verre, Louise. The child will be back soon.”
But Louise would not come in, she did not want to lose sight of Fleurette, so after thanking the kind butcher for his hospitality, she too turned to go in the direction of the Rue Haute. But at the last M’sieu’ Duflos had one more word to say to her.
“There’s one thing more, Ma’ame Louise,” he said, with unwonted earnestness in his round, prominent eyes. “If I were you I would look after that wench of yours, Adèle, a bit sharper. No offence, you know, but people have been talking in the village. She was rather too familiar with all those draggled-tailed soldiers last night.”
Old Louise, with all a peasant’s philosophy, shrugged her fat shoulders.
“You may be right, M’sieu’ Duflos,” she said dryly, “but the girl, you know, is no care of mine. My sister Amèlie looks after her.”
After which she gave a friendly nod to the amiable butcher and made her way up to the Rue Haute as fast as she could, though this was not really so fast as Fleurette’s nimble little feet had carried her.
XV
There had been no need for words. As soon as Fleurette had entered the shop, Ma’ame Colombe had stretched out her arms, and Fleurette ran to her at once to be enfolded in a great maternal embrace. With her fair hair resting on Ma’ame Colombe’s ample bosom, the child began by having a good cry. She had had none since she heard the fatal news, for excitement had kept every other emotion in check. But now with those motherly arms round her, she felt free to let her sorrow and anxiety have free rein. But only for a moment or two. As soon as she felt Ma’ame Colombe’s ample bosom heaving against hers, and the older woman’s tears wetting the top of her fair head, Fleurette looked up, swiftly drying her eyes, and put on a reassuring smile.
It was difficult to speak at first with all those sobs choking one’s voice; nevertheless, whilst mopping her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief, Fleurette contrived to say:
“You know, Ma’ame Colombe, that it is all right, don’t you? About Amédé, I mean.”
“All right, my dear? All right?” the poor woman reiterated, and shook her head with pathetic dubiousness. “How can it be all right, when my Amédé is accused of being a thief? And before the neighbours too!” she added, whilst a deeper tone of crimson than her kitchen-fire had lent to her kind old face, spread over her cheeks.
“That’s just it, Ma’ame Colombe,” Fleurette continued eagerly. “Presently—tonight I hope—everyone will know that it was not Amédé who took those things.”
“Of course he didn’t take them. But you know what village gossip is. If Amédé did not take Madame’s valuables, they keep on saying, how came they to be in our cart-shed? Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” she moaned, “to think that my Hector and I should live to see such disgrace.”
“But, Ma’ame Colombe,” Fleurette put in, somewhat impatient with the older woman’s lamentations, “I am going to Sisteron tonight to tell the gendarme how Madame’s valuables came to be in your cart-shed, and who it was that stole them.”
“You, child? How should you know?”
“Because it was I who took the valuables out of the secret place in Madame’s room,” Fleurette said glibly, “and I gave them to Amédé to take care of, and because it was I who gave them to him, he hid them in a corner of the cart-shed.”
“Holy Virgin!” was all that Ma’ame Colombe was able to say in response to this amazing story, “the child has taken leave of her senses.”
“No, no, Ma’ame Colombe,” Fleurette insisted earnestly; “it is just as I have told you. I took
