“My good Caron!” he cried. “To meet you at Boisvert is a pleasure I had not looked for.”
“Are you so very sure,” asked La Boulaye sardonically, as he took the outstretched hand, “that it is a pleasure?”
“How could it be else, old friend? By St. Guillotine!” he added, clapping the Deputy on the back, “you shall come to my room, and we will broach a bottle of green seal.”
In some measure of wonder, La Boulaye permitted himself to be led up the crazy stairs to a most untidy room above, which evidently did duty as the Captain's parlour. A heavy brass lamp, hanging from the ceiling, a few untrustworthy chairs and a deal table, stained and unclean, were the only articles of furniture. But in almost every corner there were untidy heaps of garments Of all sorts and conditions; strewn about the floor were other articles of apparel, a few weapons, a saddle, and three or four boots; here an empty bottle, lying on its side, yonder a couple of full ones by the hearth; an odd book or two and an infinity of playing cards, cast there much as a sower scatters his seeds upon the ground.
There may be a hundred ways of apprehending the character of a man, but none perhaps is more reliable than the appearance of his dwelling, and no discerning person that stepped into Captain Tardivet's parlour could long remain in doubt of its inhabitant's pursuits and habits.
When Dame Capoulade had withdrawn, after bringing them their wine and casting a few logs upon the fire, La Boulaye turned his back to the hearth and confronted his host.
“Why are you not with the army, Charlot?” he asked in a tone which made the question sound like a demand.
“Have they not told you,” rejoined the other airily, engrossed in filling the glasses.
“I understand you were sent here to recover from a wound you received three months ago at Jemappes, and to take charge of other invalided soldiers. But seemingly, your invalids do not number more than a half-dozen out of the fifty or sixty men that are with you. How is it then, that you do not return with these to Dumouriez?”
“Because I can serve France better here,” answered Charlot, “and at the same time enrich myself and my followers.”
“In short,” returned La Boulaye coldly, “because you have degenerated from a soldier into a brigand.”