"Madame," he said, "about two o'clock /he/ will be at my house waiting
for you."
Emotion prevented Mademoiselle de Verneuil from giving any other reply
than a movement of her head, but the man understood her meaning. At
that moment Corentin's step was heard in the adjoining room, but
Galope-Chopine showed no uneasiness, though Mademoiselle de Verneuil's
look and shudder warned him of danger, and as soon as the spy had
entered the room the Chouan raised his voice to an ear-splitting tone.
"Ha, ha!" he said to Francine, "I tell you there's Breton butter /and/
Breton butter. You want the Gibarry kind, and you won't give more than
eleven sous a pound; then why did you send me to fetch it? It is good
butter that," he added, uncovering the basket to show the pats which
Barbette had made. "You ought to be fair, my good lady, and pay one
sou more."
His hollow voice betrayed no emotion, and his green eyes, shaded by
thick gray eyebrows, bore Corentin's piercing glance without
flinching.
"Nonsense, my good man, you are not here to sell butter; you are
talking to a lady who never bargained for a thing in her life. The
trade you run, old fellow, will shorten you by a head in a very few
days"; and Corentin, with a friendly tap on the man's shoulder, added,
"you can't keep up being a spy of the Blues and a spy of the Chouans
very long.
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