Ernest had been stopped on his way by the worthy Raulin, mayor of Montil.
"Excuse me, Baron," he was saying. "But if you could say a word to General Decuir me, if only the artillery would pass over St. John's Hill, across my lucerne field."
"What! Haven't you a good crop, Raulin? Is that why you want it trampled on?"
"Not at all, not at all. The crop is excellent, Baron; the harvest next month promises to be good. But compensation is good also. Last time it was Houssiaux who had it. Isn't it my turn now? I am mayor, I bear all the burdens of the commune, is it not fair therefore that when there is any bonus to be given.…?"
The General was taken to the pheasantry.
"It is time," he said, "that I rejoined my brigade."
"Oh! You will reach it in no time with my thirty horse-power," said the young baron.
They inspected the kennels, the stables and the gardens.
"Your roses are superb," said the General, who was fond of flowers. Through the perfumed air there boomed the sound of cannon.
