Taking the Bastile. Dumas Alexandre

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СКАЧАТЬ is a great misfortune," Pitou blubbered: "Father Fortier sends me home from school – so no more studies, no examination, no purse, no college – "

      His sobs changed into howls while the woman stared at him to try to read in his soul the reason for this expulsion.

      "I suppose you have been playing truant again," she said. "I hear that you are always roaming round Farmer Billet's place to catch a sight of his daughter Catherine. Fie, fie! very pretty conduct in a future priest!"

      Ange shook his head.

      "You lie," shrieked the old maid, with her anger rising with the growing certainty that it was a serious scrape. "Last Sunday you were again seen rambling in Lovers-Walk with Kate Billet."

      It was she who fibbed but she was one who believed the end justified the means, and a whale-truth might be caught by throwing out a tub-lie.

      "Oh, no, they could not have seen me there," cried Ange; "for we were out by the Orange-gardens."

      "There, you wretch, you see you were with her."

      "But this is not a matter that Miss Billet is concerned in," ventured Ange, blushing like the overgrown boy of sixteen that he was.

      "Yes, call her 'Miss' to pretend you have any respect for her, the flirt, the jilt, the mincing minx! I will tell her father confessor how she is carrying on."

      "But I take my Bible oath that she is not a flirt."

      "You defend her, when you need all the excuses you can rake up for yourself. This is going on fine. What is the world coming to, when children of sixteen are walking arm in arm under the shade trees."

      "But, aunt, you are away out – Catherine will not let me 'arm' her – she keeps me off at arms-length."

      "You see how you break down your own denials. You are calling her Catherine, plain, now. Oh, why not Kate, or Kitty, or some such silly nickname which you use in your iniquitous familiarity? She drives you away to have you come nearer, they all do."

      "Do they? there, I never thought of that," exclaimed the swain, suddenly enlightened.

      "Ah, you will have something else to think of! And she," said the old prude, "I will manage all this. I will ask Father Fortier to lock you up on bread and water for a fortnight and have her put in a nunnery if she cannot moderate her fancy for you."

      She spoke so emphatically that Pitou was frightened.

      "You are altogether wrong, my good aunt," pleaded he, clasping his hands: "Miss Catherine has nothing to do with my misfortune."

      "Impurity is the mother of all the vices," returned Angelique sententiously.

      "But Impurity has nothing to do with my being turned out of school," objected the youth: "the teacher put me out because I made too many barbarisms and solecisms which prevent me of having any chance to win that purse."

      "What will become of you, then?"

      "Blest if I know," wailed Pitou, who had never looked upon priesthood, with Aunt 'Gelique as housekeeper as Paradise on earth. "Let come what Providence pleases," he sighed, lamentably raising his eyes.

      "Providence, do you call it? I see you have got hold of these newfangled ideas about philosophy."

      "That cannot be, aunt, for I cannot go into Philosophy till I have passed Rhetoric, and I am only in the third course."

      "Joke away," sneered the old maid to whom the school-jargon was Greek. "I speak of the philosophy of these philosophers, not what a pious man like the priest would allow in his holy house. You are a serpent and you have been gnawing a file of the newspapers in which these dreadful writers insult King and Queen and the Church! He is lost!"

      When Aunt Angelique said her ward was lost, she meant that she was ruined. The danger was imminent. She took the sublime resolution to run to Father Fortier's for explanation and above all to try to patch up the breach.

      CHAPTER III.

      A REVOLUTIONARY FARMER

      The departure of his aunt gave Pitou a quarter of an hour in tranquillity.

      He wanted to utilize it. He gathered the crumbs of his aunt's meal to feed his lizards (he was a naturalist who was never without pets,) caught some flies for his ants and frogs, and opened the cupboard and bread-box to get a supply of food for himself. Appetite had come to him with the lonesomeness.

      His preparations made for a feast, he went back to the doorway so as not to be surprised by the woman's return.

      While he was watching, a pretty maid passed the end of the street, riding on the crupper of a horse laden with two panniers. One was filled with pigeons, the other with pullets. This was Catherine Billet, who smiled on Pitou, and stopped on seeing him.

      According to his habit he turned red as a beet: with gaping mouth, he glared – we mean – admired Kate Billet, the last expression of feminine beauty to him. She looked up and down the street, nodded to her worshipper, and kept on in her way, Pitou trembling with delight as he nodded back.

      Absorbed in his contemplation, he did not perceive his relative on the return from Fortier's. Suddenly she grabbed his hand, while turning pale with anger.

      Abruptly roused from his bright dream by the electric shock always caused by Aunt Angelique's grasp, the youth wheeled and saw with horror that she was holding up his hand, which was in turn holding half a loaf with two most liberal smears of butter and another of white cheese applied to it.

      The woman yelled with fury and Pitou groaned with fright. She raised her other claw-like hand and he lowered his head; she darted for the broom and the other dropped the food and took to his heels without any farewell speech.

      Those two hearts knew one another and understood that they could not get on together any more.

      Angelique bounced indoors and locked with a double turn of the key. The grating sound seemed a renewal of the tempest to the fugitive who put on the pace.

      The result was an event the aunt was as far from expecting as the young man himself.

      Running as though all the fiends from below were at his heels, Pitou was soon beyond the town bounds. On turning the burial-ground wall he bunked up against a horse.

      "Good gracious," cried a sweet voice well-known to the flyer, "wherever are you racing so, Master Ange? You nearly made Younker take the bit in his teeth with the scare you gave us."

      "Oh, Miss Catherine, what a misfortune is on me," replied Pitou, wide of the question.

      "You alarm me," said the girl, pulling up in the mid-way; "What is wrong?"

      "I cannot be a priest," returned the young fellow, as if revealing a world of iniquities.

      "You won't," said the maid, roaring with laughter instead of throwing up her hands as Pitou expected. "Become a soldier, then. You must not make a fuss over such a trifle. Really, I thought your aunt had kicked the bucket."

      "It is much the same thing, for she has kicked me out."

      "Lor', no, for you have not the pleasure of mourning for her," observed Catherine Billet, laughing more heartily than before, which scandalized the nephew.

      "You СКАЧАТЬ