OLD Clovis had his gun; for what Pitou promised he did.
In ten visits Pitou became a perfect grenadier. But, unfortunately, when Clovis had taught him the manual, he had taught all he knew.
Pitou bought a copy of the “French Tactician,” and of the “Manual of the National Guard,” in which he expended a crown.
The Haramont battalion made, thanks to Pitou, very rapid progress. When he had reached the more complicated manæuvres, he went to Soissons, where in one hour, from observing real soldiers drilled by real officers, he learned in one day more than his books would have taught him in a month.
He thus toiled for two months.
Pitou was ambitious and in love. Pitou was unfortunate in his love. Often after his drill, which always followed midnight study, had Pitou crossed the plains of Largny, and now and then the whole forest, to watch Catherine, who always kept her appointment at Boursonne.
Catherine used every day to steal away from her household duty to a little cot near the warren of Boursonne, to meet her beloved Isidore, who seemed always happy and joyous, even though everything around seemed dark.
How great was Pitou's unhappiness when he remembered how unequal a share of happiness was vouchsafed to different men!
He on whom the girls of Haramont, Taillefontaine, and Vivières looked with favor, who also might have had his rendezvous, was yet forced to weep, like a child, before the closed door of Monsieur Isidore's pavilion.
Pitou loved Catherine the more devotedly because he saw that she was his superior. He also knew that she loved another; and though he ceased to be jealous of Isidore, who was noble, handsome, and worthy of love, Catherine, at least, sprung from the people, should not disgrace her family nor make him unhappy.
When he thought, therefore, he suffered very deeply.
“It was heartless,” said he, “to suffer me to go. When I did so, she never asked if I was dead or alive. What would Billot say if he knew his friends were treated thus, and his business thus neglected? What would he say if he knew that the housekeeper, instead of attending to his business, was making love with the aristocratic Monsieur de Charny? He would say nothing, but would kill Catherine.
“It is something, however, to have such a revenge in my grasp.”
It was better, though, not to make use of it.
Pitou had observed that good actions, not understood, never benefit the actors.
Would it not be well to let Catherine know what he was about? Nothing was easier; he had only to speak to her some day at the dance, and let, fall something to inform her that three persons knew her secret. Was it not worth while to make her suffer a little, to quell her pride?
If, though, he went to the dance, he must appear as the equal of the nobleman,—a thing difficult to do when the object of comparison was one so well dressed.
The pavilion in which Catherine used to meet De Charny was in a kind of grove which was an appendant to the forest of Villers-Cotterets.
A simple ditch divided the property of the count from that of his neighbors.
Catherine, who was every day called for one reason or another to visit the neighbors, found no difficulty in leaping over this ditch. The rendezvous was certainly well selected.
The pavilion was so placed that through the loopholes, set with painted glass, she could overlook the whole grove, while it was itself so secluded that no one could see it, and three springs of a horse would put any one who sought to leave in the forest or in neutral ground.
Pitou had watched Catherine so carefully that he knew whither she went, and whence she came, as well as the poacher knows the track of the hare.
Catherine did not return to the forest with Isidore, who used always to remain some time in the pavilion, in order to see that she was not annoyed, and used then to go in a contrary direction.
Pitou hid himself on Catherine's pathway, and ascended an immense tree which completely overlooked the pavilion.
Before an hour had passed he saw Catherine come by. She tied her horse in the wood, sprang over the ditch, and went to the pavilion.
She dismounted just below the tree where Pitou was.
He had only to descend and lean against the trunk. He then took from his pocket the “Manual of the National Guard,” and began to read.
An hour atter, Pitou heard a door shut. He heard the rustling of a dress, and saw Catherine look anxiously around, as if to see if she was watched.
She stood within ten paces of Pitou.
Pitou did not move, and kept his book on his knees.
He no longer, however, pretended to read, and looked at Catherine so that she could not misunderstand him.
She uttered a half-stifled cry, and then became pale as death. After another brief moment of indecision, she rushed into the forest and became invisible.
Pitou had arranged matters well, and Catherine was caught in the snare.
Pitou returned half happy and half afraid to Haramont.
As soon as he thought of what he had done, he saw that it might have many consequences which previously had not suggested themselves to him.
The next day was appointed for a military parade.
Being sufficiently instructed, in their own opinion, the National Guards had requested to be assembled in the presence of the public.
Some neighboring villagers, excited by rivalry, who had also paid attention to tactics, were to come to Haramont for a kind of contest.
A deputation from these villagers was present under the command of an old sergeant.
The announcement of such a spectacle brought many persons together, and the parade-ground of Haramont early in the day was occupied by crowds of young children, and at a later hour by the fathers and mothers of the champions.
Four drums beat in four different directions,—those of Largny, Ver, Taillefontaine, and Vivières.
Haramont was a centre, and had its four cardinal points.
A fifth replied; it preceded the thirty-three National Guards of Haramont.
Among the spectators was a portion of the aristocracy and of the bourgeoisie of Villers-Cotterets come to be amused.
There were also many farmers who had come to see.
Soon Catherine and Madame Billot came. Just at this moment the National Guard of Haramont came from the village, headed by Pitou, a drum, and a fife. Pitou was on a great white horse, which Maniquet had lent him for the purpose of making a representation of Marquis de Lafayette ad vivum at Haramont.
Pitou grasped his sword and bestrode the huge horse.
If he did not represent the aristocracy, he at least represented the bone and sinew of the land.
The entrance of Pitou, and of those who had conferred so much honor on the province, was saluted by loud acclamations.
All had hats alike, with the national cockade, and marched in two ranks in the most perfect order.
When they reached the parade all approved of them.
Pitou caught a glance of Catherine and blushed. She trembled.
This was the most exciting portion of the review.
He put his men through the manual, and every command excited much attention and applause.
The other villagers appeared excited and irregular. Some were half armed, others half instructed, and they were completely demoralized by the comparison. Pitou's men became vain of their excellence.
Both were uncertain, however, as to cause and effect.
From the manual they passed to the drill.
Here the sergeant expected to rival Pitou.
In consideration of his age, the sergeant had received the command, and marched his men back and forth by files.
Pitou, with his sword under his arm, and his helmet on his brow, looked on with infinite superiority.
When the sergeant saw his heads of column become lost amid the trees, while the rear took the back track to Haramont; when he saw his squares disperse, and squads and platoons lose their commandants,—he was greeted by a disapproving sound from his own soldiers.
A cry was heard from Haramont:—
“Yes, Pitou!” echoed the men of the other villages, offended at an inferiority which they attributed to their instructors.
Pitou, on his white horse, placed himself at the head of his men, to whom he gave the right, and gave the command in such a tone that the very oaks trembled.
As if by miracle, the broken files united, the manæuvres were well executed, Pitou made such good use of his books and of Father Clovis's instructions.
The army, with one voice, saluted him Imperator on the field of battle.
Pitou dismounted, and covered with sweat, received the salutations of the crowd.
He did not, however, see Catherine.
All at once Pitou heard her voice. It was not necessary for him to seek her. She had sought him.
“What!” said she, with an air in strange contrast with her pale face. “Have you become proud because you are a great general?”
“Oh, no!” replied Pitou. “Good-morning, Mademoiselle Billot.”
“I am happy to salute you, Madame Billot.”
Turning to Catherine, he said:—
“Mademoiselle, you are wrong. I am not a great general, but only a young man anxious to serve my country.”
What he had said was borne through the crowd, and treated as a sublime sentiment.
“Ange,” said Catherine, “I must speak to you.”
