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Updated: July 16, 2025
"I thought you were in prison, Bouzille," she said, "over stealing my rabbit, and also over that affair at the château of Beaulieu." "Oh, those are two quite different stories," Bouzille replied. "You mustn't mix them up together on any account.
Bouzille made quite long journeys in this train of his, and was well known throughout the south-west of France.
Bouzille knew from experience that the first thing people do after a tragedy is to arrest all the tramps, and that if the police are at all crotchety they always contrive to get the tramps sentenced for something else. He had had a momentary inclination to establish his winter quarters in prison, but since then he had formed the plan of going to Paris, and liberty appealed to him more.
"Where did you get these fowls?" mother Chiquard asked, more as a matter of form than anything else, for she was pretty sure they had not been honestly come by. Bouzille put his finger to his lip. "Hush!" he murmured gently; "that's a secret between me and the poultry. Well, is it a go?" and he held out his hand to the old lady. She hesitated a moment and then made up her mind.
Louise had handed Bouzille a huge chunk of bread which he immediately interned in the depths of his enormous bag. "What do you suppose that other chap can have to tell Mr. Paul Pry? He did not look like a regular!
"What ho, Bouzille!" somebody called out, for the man was a well-known and popular figure, and everybody knew his name. "Is that Methuselah's tricycle that you have pinched?" and to some of the sallies the fellow replied with a smile that was almost lost in his matted beard, and to others with a jest uttered in the purest dialect of Auvergne.
Bouzille must have picked up this impossible machine for an old song at some local market, unless perhaps some charitable person gave it to him simply to get rid of it. He styled this tricycle his "engine," and it was by no means the whole of his equipage.
"The other man has been discharged," he said. "As for Bouzille, M. de Presles does not think there is any need to interrogate him." "Am I to be punted out then?" enquired the tramp with some dismay, as he looked uneasily towards the window, against the glass of which rain was lashing. The sergeant could not restrain a smile.
Bouzille deliberately followed her inside and closed the door carefully behind him. Without ceremony he walked up to the hearth, where a scanty wood fire was burning, and put down his pack so as to be able to rub his hands more freely. "Miserable weather, mother Chiquard!" The obstinate old lady stuck to her one idea.
So Geoffroy, very drunk, offered Benoît, who was no whit more sober, the gross affront of refusing to clink glasses with him! "Why, it's you!" exclaimed Bouzille, in ringing tones of such glad surprise that everybody turned round to see whom he was addressing. Julot and Berthe looked with the rest.
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