But it was enough. A deer fled across his path, and a
partridge blundered into his face. They had played him the man in the
motley; let them beware of the fool's revenge.
At seven the storm had passed. Around the mess-table sat the men,
eating. Victor had thrown his grey cloak over the back of his chair.
Occasionally his glance wandered toward madame and Anne. Brother
Jacques sat opposite, and the vicomte sat at his side. As they left
the table to circle round the fire in the living-room, Victor forgot
his cloak, and the vicomte threw it around his own shoulders, intending
to follow the poet and join him in a game of dominoes. A spurt of
flame crimson-hued his face and flashed over the garment.
Brother Jacques started, his mouth agape.
CHAPTER XXIX
A JOURNEY INTO THE HILLS AND THE TEN LIVRES OF CORPORAL FREMIN
"Madame, you have studiously avoided me." The vicomte twirled his hat.
"And with excellent reason, you will agree."
"You have been here six days, and you have not given me the barest
chance of speaking to you." There was a suspicion of drollery in his
reproachful tones.
"Monsieur," replied madame, who, finding herself finally trapped with
no avenue of escape, quickly adapted herself to the situation, the
battle of evasion, "our last meeting has not fully escaped my
recollection.
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