Bébelle was taken to the stable, the child left his goat, to go and look at her, and Denise ushered Bertrand into the house and made haste to offer him wine. Meanwhile Mère Fourcy made an omelet, Bertrand having admitted that he would be glad to eat a morsel. Denise was burning to learn something about the young man who had commended Coco to her care; but she waited for her aunt to leave the room before mentioning him. She did not know how to question Bertrand, whom she supposed to have been sent by the handsome young man to make inquiries about the child; and she waited for Bertrand to speak first; but as he did nothing but eat and drink, Denise decided to question him. "He sent you to find out whether Coco had everything he wants, and whether I'd made a good use of the money he left with me, didn't he, monsieur?" Bertrand emptied his glass at a draught and replaced it on the table with a bang, saying: "For a village wine, that ain't bad at all." "Didn't you hear what I said, monsieur?" asked Denise timidly. "I beg pardon, but you will be very good to act as if I hadn't heard, for I didn't understand." "I asked you if that gentleman, that young man I saw with you, first in a cabriolet, and afterward at Madame Destival's----" "You mean Monsieur Auguste Dalville?" "Ah! is his name Auguste Dalville?" "How is it that you don't know his name and do know mine?" "Because he called you by name twice before me, in the courtyard, and I haven't forgotten your name." "You are very kind, mademoiselle." "So Monsieur Auguste Dalville didn't come with you to-day?" "I beg pardon, but he's close by! he'll be here very soon." "He is here, he is coming!" cried Denise, jumping for joy. But she added, to conceal her emotion: "You see, when you came alone, I thought that you wasn't with him any more." "Do you suppose I'll ever leave my master, my benefactor, a man who has done everything for me, and who still calls me his friend? Ten thousand bayonets! No, my dear child, that can never be; I'm attached to Monsieur Auguste, just as my sword hilt is to the blade; nothing can ever separate me from him, except himself. But I don't worry about that; although I do make bold to scold him a little, he knows old Bertrand's heart." Denise wiped away the tears of emotion which the old soldier's devotion brought to her eyes; then she cried, taking Bertrand's hand and pressing it in hers: "Ah! what a fine thing for you to say, Monsieur Bertrand! How nice it is to love a person like that!" "Does it surprise you? did you think that Monsieur Auguste didn't deserve to be loved so well?" "I don't say that, monsieur; far from it. Another glass, Monsieur Bertrand?" "With pleasure, mamzelle." Denise was delighted to hear him talk of Auguste; and as the wine made him very communicative, he went on; for when he was talking about his benefactor, it was the same as with his campaigns--there was no way of stopping him.