She had struck terror into the three servants--for she had
allowed herself a housemaid, and she exerted her old-maidish energy in
taking stock of everything, examining everything, and arranging in
every respect for the comfort of her dear Marshal. Lisbeth, quite as
Republican as he could be, pleased him by her democratic opinions, and
she flattered him with amazing dexterity; for the last fortnight the
old man, whose house was better kept, and who was cared for as a child
by its mother, had begun to regard Lisbeth as a part of what he had
dreamed of.
"My dear Marshal," she shouted, following him out on to the steps,
"pull up the windows, do not sit in a draught, to oblige me!"
The Marshal, who had never been so cosseted in his life, went off
smiling at Lisbeth, though his heart was aching.
At the same hour Baron Hulot was quitting the War Office to call on
his chief, Marshal the Prince de Wissembourg, who had sent for him.
Though there was nothing extraordinary in one of the Generals on the
Board being sent for, Hulot's conscience was so uneasy that he fancied
he saw a cold and sinister expression in Mitouflet's face.
"Mitouflet, how is the Prince?" he asked, locking the door of his
private room and following the messenger who led the way.
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