"Nobody," answered the girl, dancing on. "If I am sad, it is about nothing, at all events. Everybody has dark hours--"
"Indeed they have. And Caillette, listen. There are, indeed, people about us,"--and the frog drew up his legs and jumped at least a foot--"this Robeccal will play us a trick some fine day, and your father's wife--well! we will see, we will see. But here they come, and I am sure they have been plotting together."
"Come, Bobichel, do not let us wait until they overtake us," cried Caillette.
"Do you think I shall run away? Now you go on, little girl; after a while I will overtake you. I want to have a little talk with this villain!"
"Don't get into any trouble, papa would be offended."
Robeccal saw the girl run off toward the village, and a wicked smile gleamed over his face.
"Good," he said, between his teeth, "we shall make you pay for that!"
When he reached Bobichel, who was still in his frog attitude, the clown gave a flourish with his leg and his foot, quite by accident of course, knocking off Robeccal's hat.
"Oh! a thousand pardons," answered Bobichel, "I did not see you!"
"Didn't you! Well! little Caillette saw me, and ran away, as if the devil were coming."
"A girl's nonsense. Never mind her. I am glad she has gone. The truth is, these people are putting on airs, and I don't like it."
Robeccal was no fool, and these words inspired him with suspicion. "Does he want me to talk?" he said to himself. And he was right in this idea.
"And as for Fanfar!" continued Bobichel, now standing on his feet.
"And what of him? You are as intimate as possible with Fanfar?"
Bobichel, with a sagacious nod, replied, "Of course I am, he is the master's favorite, but all the same I am not pleased with him. He eats our bread, and what does he do?"
"He adds to the success of the entertainments."
"I think, Robeccal, you are trying to provoke me. Because he is strong, because he has learned a lot of things, and can play on a lot of instruments, does not prove that he is worth more than either of us."
"Oh! if I only knew whether you were to be trusted!" cried Robeccal.
Bobichel in vain tried to preserve utter impassibility. Robeccal surprised a look in his eyes, which he translated at once as meaning, "He is going to speak. I have him."