Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,18

the old concierge hobbled about with a wooden leg. He had bushy eyebrows and the bald top of his head was surrounded by a crown of long dirty blond hair. Guibot had served the Blades before they were disbanded and he had kept a jealous watch over their headquarters, which he inexplicably adored, until their return.

While Marciac barely avoided colliding with him in the

front hall, the old man was busy clearing a path for two kitchen boys, dressed in pumps, white stockings, breeches, shirts, and aprons, who were arriving in the courtyard carrying a litter which held a large pate in a circular pastry crust whose little chimney still steamed and filled the air with an appetising fragrance.

'Good afternoon, monsieur Marciac . . . Make way, please . . . Begging your pardon . . . Watch the step, you two! And mind the door . . . ! There . . . Gently, gently . . . It's this way . . .'

His mouth already watering, the Gascon followed the procession through the house and out into the garden.

The garden was in fact merely a square of nature which, left untended, had reverted to its wild state.

The grass was high and brush had accumulated at the foot of the walls. A chestnut tree offered some welcome shade. At the rear, a little door opened onto a narrow alley. And right in the middle, beneath the tree, was an old wooden table that was never taken inside. It had gone white from weathering and some intrepid bindweeds climbed up its cabled legs.

Sitting at one end of this table on mismatched chairs, Leprat, Agnes, and Ballardieu were joking and laughing over glasses of wine, sometimes getting up to replenish their drinks from one of the bottles left to cool in a tub of water, or to scrounge a bite to eat from a plate. Absorbed in their amusement, they paid little attention to shy Na'is who was busy setting out dishes on a tablecloth already loaded

— in addition to the tableware — with cold meats, a roast goose, cheese, a pie, and a fat round loaf of bread. But the young servant girl always seemed to be forgetting something, forcing her to make further trips back and forth between the garden, the kitchen, the pantry and the cellar. And each time, she scolded herself in a soft voice.

'Useless girl, do you have nothing but sawdust for brains?' she groused as she hurried past Marciac.

'Ah! At last!' cried Ballardieu when he saw who and what was arriving.

Then the old soldier spied Marciac and welcomed him with equal enthusiasm.

Space had to be made for the steaming pate. Monsieur Guibot wanted to direct the manoeuvre, but Ballardieu, domineering, promptly took control of operations. The pate left its litter undamaged and the two boys were sent off to the kitchen to have a drink before returning to their master, a pastry cook in rue des Saints-Peres.

'Slept well?' Leprat asked.

'Wonderfully,' replied Marciac as he sat down.

'I'm glad to see you again, Marciac'

'I'm glad to be back. The captain hasn't returned?'

'Not yet. Nor have Saint-Lucq and Almades, of course.'

'Here,' said Agnes, passing a glass of wine to the Gascon. 'Your health, Nicolas.'

Marciac was touched by the gesture and he smiled.

'Thank you very much, baronne.'

'You're welcome.'

Nai's returned with a bowl of butter, which at first she didn't know where to put on the crowded table.

'Nai's,' Ballardieu called to her. 'Is there anything missing, would you say?'

The old soldier was no ogre, but his deep voice and red face caused the young servant girl to become flustered. She thought it was a trick question and hesitated, looking around the table several times with a panic-stricken look on her face.

'I—'

'Well, I say there's nothing missing,' Ballardieu answered for her. 'You can therefore come and sit down.'

Nai's did not understand. Was she being invited to sit at the masters' table?

'I beg your pardon, monsieur?'

'Sit down, Na'is! And you too, monsieur Guibot . . . Come on, hurry up! The pate is growing cold.'

The concierge did not need to be asked twice.

The servant girl, on the other hand, sought further advice. She looked to Leprat, who nodded in approval to her. That reassured her. Leprat was a gentleman, and moreover a former member of the King's Musketeers. And the baronne de Vaudreuil seemed not to care at all.

So, if they saw no impediment to her sitting at the table . . . Her nervousness settling somewhat, she timidly placed one buttock on