The moon was just rising as the viscount, followed by the faithful
Pompée, left Master Biscarros' hostelry behind him, and started off on
the road to Paris.
After about quarter of an hour, which the viscount devoted to his
reflections, and during which they made something like a league and a
half, he turned to the squire, who was gravely bobbing up and down in
his saddle, three paces behind his master.
"Pompée," the young man asked, "have you my right glove by any chance?"
"Not that I am aware of, monsieur," said Pompée.
"What are you doing to your portmanteau, pray?"
"I am looking to see if it is fastened on securely, and tightening the
straps, for fear the gold may rattle. The rattle of gold is a fatal
thing, monsieur, and leads to unpleasant meetings, especially at night."
"It's well done of you, Pompée, and I love to see that you are so
prudent and careful."
"Those are very natural qualities in an old soldier, Monsieur le
Vicomte, and are well adapted to go with courage; however, as rashness
is not courage, I confess my regret that Monsieur Richon couldn't come
with us; for twenty thousand livres is a risky burden, especially in
such stormy times as these."
"What you say is full of common-sense, Pompée, and I agree with you in
every point," the viscount replied.
"I will even venture to say," continued Pompée, emboldened in his
fear by the viscount's approbation, "that it is imprudent to take the
chances we are taking. Let us halt a moment, if you please, while I
inspect my musket."
"Well, Pompée?"
"It seems to be in good condition, and the man who undertakes to stop
us will have a bad quarter of an hour. Oho! what do I see yonder?"
"Where?"
"A hundred yards ahead of us, to the right; look, over there."
"I see something white!"
"Yes, yes!" said Pompée, "white; a cross-belt, perhaps. I am very
anxious, on my honor, to get behind that hedge on the left. In military
language that is called intrenching; let us intrench ourselves,
Monsieur le Vicomte."
"If those are cross-belts, Pompée, they are worn by the king's
soldiers; and the king's soldiers don't rob peaceful travellers."
"Don't you believe it, Monsieur le Vicomte, don't you believe it! On
the contrary, we hear of nothing but road-agents, who use his Majesty's
uniform as a cloak under which to commit innumerable villanies, each
one more damnable than the last; and lately, at Bordeaux, two of the
light-horse were broken on the wheel. I think I recognize the uniform
of the light-horse, monsieur."
"Their uniform is blue, Pompée, and what we see is white."
"True; but they often put on a blouse over their uniform; that's what
the villains did who were recently broken on the wheel at Bordeaux.
It seems to me that they are gesticulating a great deal; they are
threatening. That's their tactics, you see, Monsieur le Vicomte; they
lie in ambush like this, by the road, and, carbine in hand, compel the
traveller to throw his purse to them from a distance."
"But, my good Pompée," said the viscount, who, although considerably
alarmed, kept his presence of mind, "if they threaten from a distance
with their carbines, do the same with yours."
"Yes; but they don't see me," said Pompée; "so any demonstration on my
part would be useless."
"Well, if they don't see you, they can hardly be threatening you, I
should say."
"You understand absolutely nothing of war," retorted the squire,
ill-humoredly; "the same thing is going to happen to me here that
happened at Corbie."
"Let us hope not, Pompée; for, if I remember aright, Corbie is where
you were wounded."
"Yes, and a terrible wound. I was with Monsieur de Cambes, and a rash
gentleman he was! We were doing patrol duty one night to investigate
the place where the battle was to be fought. We spied some cross-belts.
I urged him not to do a foolhardy thing that would do no good; he
persisted and marched straight up to the cross-belts. I turned my back
angrily. At that moment, a cursed ball--viscount, let us be prudent!"
"Prudent we will be, Pompée: I ask nothing better. But it seems to me
that they do not move."
"They are scenting their prey. Wait."
The travellers, luckily for them, had not to wait long. In a moment the
moon shone out from behind a black cloud, and cast a bright light upon
two or three shirts drying behind a hedge, with sleeves outstretched,
some fifty paces away.
They were the cross-belts which reminded Pompée of his ill-fated patrol
at Corbie.
The viscount laughed heartily, and spurred his horse; Pompée followed
him, crying:--
"How fortunate that I did not follow my first impulse; I was going to
send a ball in that direction, and it would have made me a second Don
Quixote. You see, viscount, the value of prudence and experience in
warfare!"
After a period of deep emotion, there is always a period of repose;
having safely passed the shirts, the travellers rode on two or three
leagues peacefully enough. It was a superb night; a clump of trees by
the roadside made a broad shadow, black as ebony, across the road.
"I most assuredly do not like the moonlight," said Pompée. "When
you can be seen from a distance you run the risk of being taken by
surprise. I have always heard men versed in war say that of two men who
are looking for each other the moon never helps but one at a time. We
are in the bright light, Monsieur le Vicomte, and it isn't prudent."
"Very well, let us ride in the shadow, Pompée."
"Yes, but if men were lying hidden in the edge of the wood, we should
literally run into their mouths. In war time you never approach a wood
until it has been reconnoitred."
"Unfortunately," rejoined the viscount, "we lack scouts. Isn't that
what they call the men who reconnoitre woods, brave Pompée?"
"Yes, yes," muttered the squire. "Deuce take Richon, why didn't he
come? We could have sent him forward as advance-guard, while we formed
the main body of the army."
"Well, Pompée, what shall we do? Shall we stay in the moonlight, or go
over into the shadow?"
"Let us get into the shadow, Monsieur le Vicomte; it's the most prudent
way, I think."
"Shadow it is."
"You are afraid, Monsieur le Vicomte, aren't you?"
"No, my dear Pompée, I swear I'm not."
"You would be foolish, for I am here and on the watch; if I were alone,
you understand, this would trouble me very little. An old soldier fears
neither God nor devil. But you are a companion as hard to watch as the
gold I have on behind; and the double responsibility alarms me. Ah!
what is that black form I see over there? This time it is moving."
"There's no doubt about that," said the viscount.
"See what it is to be in the shadow; we see the enemy, and he doesn't
see us. Doesn't it seem to you as if the villain has a musket?"
"Yes; but he's alone, Pompée, and there are two of us."
"Monsieur le Vicomte, men who travel alone are most to be feared; for
their being alone indicates a determined character. The famous Baron
des Adrets always went by himself. Look! he's aiming at us, or I'm much
mistaken! He's going to fire; stoop!"
"Why, no, Pompée, he's simply changing his musket from one shoulder to
the other."
"Never mind, we must stoop all the same; it's the custom; let us
receive his fire with our noses on our saddles."
"But you see that he doesn't fire, Pompée."
"He doesn't fire?" said the squire, raising his head. "Good! he must be
afraid; our determined bearing has intimidated him. Ah! he's afraid!
Let me speak to him, and do you speak after me, and make your voice as
gruff as possible."
The shadow was coming toward them.
"_Holé!_ friend, who are you?" cried Pompée.
The shadow halted with a very perceptible start of terror.
"Do you shout now," said Pompée.
"It's useless," said the viscount; "the poor devil is frightened enough
already."
"Ah! he's afraid!" said Pompée, raising his weapon.
"Mercy, monsieur!" exclaimed the man, falling on his knees,
"mercy! I am only a poor pedler, and I haven't sold as much as a
pocket-handkerchief for a week; I haven't a sou about me."
What Pompée had taken for a musket was the yard-stick with which the
poor devil measured off his wares.
"Pray understand, my friend," said Pompée, majestically, "that we are
no thieves, but fighting men, travelling at night because we are afraid
of nothing; go your way in peace; you are free."
"Here, my friend," the milder voice of the viscount interposed, "here's
a half-pistole for the fright we gave you, and may God be with you!"
As he spoke, the viscount, with his small white hand, gave the poor
devil a half-pistole, and he walked away, thanking Heaven for the lucky
meeting.
"You were wrong, Monsieur le Vicomte, you were very wrong," said
Pompée, a few steps farther on.
"Wrong, wrong! wherein, pray?"
"In giving that man a half-pistole. At night you should never admit
that you have money about you; look you, wasn't it that coward's first
cry that he hadn't a sou?"
"True," said the viscount, smiling; "but he's a coward, as you say,
while we, as you also said, are fighting men, who fear nothing."
"Between being afraid and being suspicious, Monsieur le Vicomte, there
is as great a distance as between fear and prudence. Now, it isn't
prudent, I say again, to let a stranger whom you meet on the high-road
see that you have money."
"Not when the stranger is alone and unarmed?"
"He may belong to an armed band; he may be only a spy sent forward to
see how the land lies. He may return with a crowd, and what can two
men, however brave they may be, do against a crowd?"
This time the viscount realized the reasonableness of Pompée's reproof,
or rather, to cut the lecture short, pretended to admit his guilt, and
they rode on until they reached the bank of the little river Saye, near
Saint-Genès.
There was no bridge, and they were obliged to ford the stream.
Pompée, thereupon, delivered a learned discourse upon the passage of
rivers, but as a discourse is not a bridge, they were not the less
obliged to ford the stream after the discourse was concluded.
Fortunately, the river was not deep, and this latest incident afforded
the viscount further proof that things seen at a distance, especially
at night, are much more alarming than when seen at close quarters.
He was really beginning, therefore, to feel safe, especially as the
day would break in about another hour, when, as they were in the midst
of the wood which lies about Marsas, the two travellers suddenly
drew rein; they could hear, far in their rear, but distinctly, the
hoof-beats of galloping horses.
At the same moment their own horses raised their heads, and one of them
neighed.
"This time," said Pompée, in a stifled voice, seizing the bridle of
his companion's horse, "this time, Monsieur le Vicomte, you will show
a little docility, I trust, and be guided by the experience of an old
soldier. I hear a troop of mounted men; they are pursuing us. Of course
it's your pretended pedler's band; I told you so, imprudent youth that
you are! Come, no useless bravado, but let us save our lives and our
money! Flight is often a means of winning the battle; Horace pretended
to fly."
"Very well, let us fly, Pompée," said the viscount, trembling from head
to foot.
Pompée drove in his spurs; his horse, an excellent roan, leaped forward
with a zeal that inflamed the ardor of the viscount's barb, and they
dashed away at full speed, followed by a train of sparks, as their
iron-shod hoofs flew along the hard road.
This race lasted about half an hour; but instead of gaining ground, it
seemed to the fugitives that their enemies were coming nearer.
Suddenly a voice issued from the darkness,--a voice which, mingling
with the hissing sound produced by the speed at which they were riding,
seemed like the muttered menace of the spirits of the night.
It made the gray hair stand erect on Pompée's head.
"They cried 'Stop!'" he muttered; "they cried 'Stop!'"
"Well, shall we stop?" asked the viscount.
"By no means!" cried Pompée; "let us double our speed, if possible.
Forward! forward!"
"Yes, yes! forward! forward!" cried the viscount, as thoroughly
terrified now as his defender.
"They are gaining, they are gaining!" said Pompée; "do you hear them?"
"Alas! yes."
"They are not more than thirty--Listen, they are calling us again. We
are lost!"
"Founder the horses, if we must," said the viscount, more dead than
alive.
"Viscount! viscount!" shouted the voice. "Stop! stop! stop, old Pompée!"
"It is some one who knows us, some one who knows we are carrying money
to Madame la Princesse, some one who knows we are conspirators; we
shall be broken on the wheel alive!"
"Stop! stop!" the voice persisted.
"They are shouting to some one to stop us," said Pompée; "they have
some one ahead of us; we are surrounded!"
"Suppose we turn into the field, and let them pass?"
"A good idea," said Pompée; "let us try it."
They guided their horses with rein and knee at the same time, and
turned to the left; the viscount's mount, skilfully handled, leaped the
ditch, but Pompée's heavier beast took off too late, the ground gave
way under his feet, and he fell, carrying his rider down with him. The
squire emitted a shriek of despair.
The viscount, who was already fifty paces away, heard his cry of
distress, and although sadly frightened himself, turned and rode back
to his companion.
"Mercy!" howled Pompée. "Ransom! I surrender; I belong to the house of
Cambes!"
A loud shout of laughter was the only response to this pitiful appeal;
and the viscount, riding up at that moment, saw Pompée embracing the
stirrup of the conqueror, who, in a voice choking with laughter, was
trying to reassure him.
"Monsieur le Baron de Canolles!" exclaimed the viscount.
"_Sarpejeu!_ yes. Go to, viscount, it isn't fair to lead people who are
looking for you such a race as this."
"Monsieur le Baron de Canolles!" echoed Pompée, still doubting his good
luck; "Monsieur le Baron de Canolles and Monsieur Castorin!"
"Why, yes, Monsieur Pompée," said Castorin, rising in his stirrups to
look over his master's shoulder, as he bent forward, laughing, over his
saddle-bow; "what are you doing in that ditch?"
"You see!" said Pompée. "My horse fell just as I was about to intrench
myself, taking you for enemies, in order to make a vigorous defence!
Monsieur le Vicomte," he continued, rising and shaking himself, "it's
Monsieur de Canolles."
"You here, monsieur!" murmured the viscount, with something very like
joy, which was reflected in his tone in spite of himself.
"'Faith, yes, it's myself," replied Canolles, gazing at the viscount
with a degree of pertinacity which his finding of the glove
sufficiently explained. "I was bored to death in that inn. Richon left
me after winning my money. I learned that you had taken the Paris road.
Luckily I had business in the same direction, so I set out to overtake
you; I didn't suspect that I should have to run such a race to do it!
_Peste!_ my young gentleman, what a horseman you are!"
The viscount smiled, and stammered a few words.
"Castorin," continued Canolles, "assist Monsieur Pompée to mount. You
see that he can't quite manage it, notwithstanding his skill."
Castorin dismounted and lent a hand to Pompée, who finally regained his
seat.
"Now," said the viscount, "we will ride on, by your leave."
"One moment," said Pompée, much embarrassed; "one moment, Monsieur le
Vicomte; it seems to me that I miss something."
"I should say as much," said the viscount; "you miss the valise."
"Oh! _mon Dieu!_" ejaculated Pompée, feigning profound astonishment.
"Wretch!" cried the viscount, "can you have lost it?"
"It can't be far away, monsieur," Pompée replied.
"Isn't this it?" inquired Castorin, picking up the object in question,
which he found some difficulty in lifting.
"It is," said the viscount.
"It is," echoed Pompée.
"It isn't his fault," said Canolles, anxious to make a friend of the
old squire; "in his fall the straps broke and the valise fell off."
"The straps are not broken, monsieur, but cut," said Castorin. "Look!"
"Oho! Monsieur Pompée," said Canolles, "what does that mean?"
"It means," said the viscount, sternly, "that, in his terror at being
pursued by robbers, Monsieur Pompée cleverly cut the straps of the
valise so that he might not have the responsibility of being the
treasurer. In military parlance, what is that ruse called, Monsieur
Pompée?"
Pompée tried to excuse himself by putting the blame on his
hunting-knife which he had imprudently drawn; but, as he could give
no satisfactory explanation, he remained under the suspicion, in the
viscount's eyes, of having chosen to sacrifice the valise to his own
safety.
Canolles was more lenient.
"Nonsense! nonsense!" said he; "that may or may not be; but strap the
valise on again. Come, Castorin, help Monsieur Pompée. You were right,
Master Pompée, to be afraid of robbers; the valise is heavy, and would
be a valuable prize."
"Don't joke, monsieur," said Pompée, with a shudder; "all joking is
equivocal at night."
"You are right, Pompée, always right; and so I propose to act as escort
to you and the viscount. A re-enforcement of two men may be of some use
to you."
"Yes, indeed!" cried Pompée, "there is safety in numbers."
"What say you to my offer, viscount?" said Canolles, who observed that
the viscount welcomed his obliging suggestion with less enthusiasm than
the squire.
"I, monsieur," was the reply, "recognize therein your usual desire to
oblige, and I thank you very sincerely; but our roads are not the same,
and I should dislike to put you to inconvenience."
"What!" said Canolles, greatly disappointed to find that the struggle
at the inn was to begin again in the high-road; "what! our roads are
not the same? Aren't you going to--"
"Chantilly," said Pompée, hastily, trembling at the thought of pursuing
his journey with no other companion than the viscount.
That gentleman made an impatient gesture, and if it had been daylight,
an angry flush might have been seen to mount to his cheeks.
"Why," cried Canolles, without seeming to notice the furious glance
with which the viscount blasted poor Pompée,--"why, Chantilly lies
directly in my way. I am going to Paris, or rather," he added with a
laugh, "I have no business, my dear viscount, and I don't know where
I am going. Are you going to Paris? so am I. Are you going to Lyons?
I am going to Lyons. Are you going to Marseilles? I have long had
a passionate desire to see Provence, and I am going to Marseilles.
Are you going to Stenay, where his Majesty's troops are? let us go
to Stenay together. Though born in the South, I have always had a
predilection for the North."
"Monsieur," rejoined the viscount, in a determined tone, due doubtless
to his irritation against Pompée, "you force me to remind you that I
am travelling alone on private business of the utmost importance; and
forgive me, but if you insist, you will compel me, to my great regret,
to tell you that you annoy me."
Nothing less than the thought of the little glove, which lay hidden
upon his breast between his shirt and doublet, would have restrained
the baron, who was as quick-tempered and impulsive as any Gascon, from
an outburst of wrath. However, he did succeed in controlling himself.
"Monsieur," he replied in a more serious tone, "I have never heard
it said that the high-road belonged to one person more than to
another. Indeed, if I mistake not, it is called the king's road, as an
indication that all his Majesty's subjects have an equal right to use
it. I am, therefore, upon the king's road with no purpose of annoying
you; indeed I am here to make myself useful to you, for you are young,
weak, and practically undefended. I did not suppose that I looked
like a highway-man. But since you so imply, I must needs admit my
unprepossessing appearance. Forgive my intrusion, monsieur. I have the
honor of presenting my respects to you. _Bon voyage!_"
With that, Canolles, having saluted the viscount, rode to the other
side of the road, followed by Castorin in the flesh and by Pompée in
spirit.
Canolles acted throughout this scene with such perfect courtesy his
gestures were so graceful, the brow which his broad felt hat shaded
was so unruffled, and surrounded by such silky black hair, that the
viscount was even less impressed by his words than by his lofty
bearing. He had moved away, as we have said, followed by Castorin,
sitting stiff and straight in his saddle. Pompée, who remained with
the viscount, sighed in a heartrending way, fit to break the hearts of
the stones in the road. Thereupon the viscount, having duly reflected,
urged his horse forward, joined Canolles, who pretended not to see or
hear him, and whispered in an almost inaudible voice,--
"Monsieur de Canolles!"
Canolles started and turned his head; a thrill of pleasure ran through
his veins; it seemed to him as if all the music of the heavenly spheres
were taking part in a divine concert for his benefit alone.
"Viscount!" said he.
"Listen, monsieur," continued the viscount, in a soft, sweet voice;
"really I am distressed at the thought of being guilty of any
discourtesy to one so courteous and obliging as yourself. Forgive my
timidity, I pray you; I was brought up by relatives whose affection for
me made them reluctant to let me out of their sight; I ask you once
more, therefore, to forgive me; I have not intended to offend you,
and I trust you will permit me to ride beside you, as a proof of our
sincere reconciliation."
"Marry! that I will!" cried Canolles, "a hundred and a thousand times,
yes! I bear no malice, viscount, and to prove it--"
He put out his hand, into which fell or slipped a little hand as soft
and shrinking as a sparrow's claw.
During the rest of the night the baron talked incessantly. The viscount
listened, and laughed now and then.
The two servants rode behind,--Pompée explaining to Castorin how the
battle of Corbie was lost, when it might perfectly well have been won,
if they had not neglected to summon him to the council of war held in
the morning.
"But how did you get out of your affair with Monsieur d'Épernon?" said
the viscount, as the first rays of daylight appeared.
"It was no difficult matter," Canolles replied; "according to what
you told me, viscount, it was he who had business with me, not I with
him; either he got tired of waiting for me and went his way, or he was
obstinate about it and is waiting still."
"But what of Mademoiselle de Lartigues?" queried the viscount, with
some hesitation.
"Mademoiselle de Lartigues cannot be at home with Monsieur d'Épernon,
and at the Golden Calf with me, at one and the same time. We mustn't
ask a woman to do the impossible."
"That is no answer, baron. I ask you how it is that you could bear to
leave Mademoiselle de Lartigues, being so fond of her as you are."
Canolles gazed at the viscount with eyes which already saw too clearly,
for it was quite light by this time, and there was no other shadow on
the young man's face than that cast by his hat.
The baron felt a mad impulse to reply by speaking his thoughts; but the
presence of Pompée and Castorin, and the viscount's serious expression
held him back; moreover, he was not yet absolutely free from doubt.
"Suppose that I am mistaken, and that it should prove to be a man,
despite the little glove and little hand; upon my soul, I never should
dare look him in the face again!"
He took patience therefore and answered the viscount's question with
one of those smiles which serve to answer any question.
They stopped at Barbézieux for breakfast and to breathe their horses.
Canolles breakfasted with the viscount, and as they sat at table gazed
admiringly at the hand whose perfumed envelope had caused him such
lively emotion. Furthermore, the viscount was bound in common courtesy
to remove his hat before taking his seat, and as he did so he disclosed
such a wealth of lovely, soft hair that any other than a man in love,
and consequently blind, would have been relieved of all uncertainty;
but Canolles dreaded the awakening too keenly not to prolong the dream
as much as possible. There was something fascinating to him in the
viscount's disguise, which permitted him to indulge in a multitude of
little familiarities which a more thorough acquaintance or a complete
confession would have forbidden. He therefore said not a word to lead
the viscount to think that his incognito was detected.
After breakfast they resumed their journey, and rode until dinner.
Gradually, a feeling of weariness, which he found more and more
difficulty in concealing, caused a haggard look to appear on the
viscount's face, and a slight shivering of his whole body, of which
Canolles in a friendly way asked him the cause. Thereupon Monsieur
de Cambes would smile and pretend that the feeling had passed away,
and even suggest quickening their pace; which Canolles refused to do,
saying that they had a long distance still to travel, and that they
must therefore spare their horses.
After dinner the viscount found some difficulty in rising. Canolles
darted to his assistance.
"You need rest, my young friend," said he; "a continuous journey like
this would kill you before you finish the third stage. We will not ride
to-night, but go to bed. I propose that you shall have a good night's
sleep, and may I die if the best room in the inn is not given you!"
The viscount looked at Pompée with such an expression of terror that
Canolles could not conquer his desire to laugh.
"When we undertake so long a journey," said Pompée, "we ought each to
have a tent."
"Or one tent for two," observed Canolles, with the most natural air;
"that would be quite enough."
The viscount shivered from head to foot.
The blow struck home, and Canolles saw that it did; out of the corner
of his eye he noticed that the viscount made a sign to Pompée. Pompée
went to his master's side, who said a few words to him in an undertone,
and a moment later the old squire, muttering some excuse, rode on ahead
and disappeared.
An hour and a half after this incident, which Canolles did not seek
to have explained, as they rode into a considerable village the two
travellers spied the squire standing in the doorway of a hostelry of
decent appearance.
"Aha!" said Canolles, "it would seem that we are to pass the night
here, eh, viscount?"
"Why, yes, baron, if you choose."
"Nonsense! it is for you to choose. As I told you I am travelling for
pleasure, while you tell me that you are travelling on business. I'm
afraid that you won't fare very well in this hovel."
"Oh! a night is soon passed."
They halted, and Pompée, more alert than Canolles, darted forward and
took his master's stirrup; moreover, it occurred to Canolles that such
an attention would be absurd from one man to another.
"Show me to my room at once," said the viscount. "In truth, you are
right, Monsieur de Canolles," he continued, turning to his companion,
"I am really extremely fatigued."
"Here it is, monsieur," said the hostess, throwing open the door of a
good-sized room on the ground-floor, looking on the court-yard, but
with bars at the windows, and nothing but the garret above.
"Where is mine, pray?" cried Canolles, casting his eyes cautiously at
the door next the viscount's, and at the thin partition, which would
have been very slender protection against a curiosity so thoroughly
sharpened as his.
"Yours?" said the hostess. "Come this way, monsieur, and I'll take you
to it."
Without apparently noticing Canolles' ill-humor, she led him to the
farther end of an exterior corridor, lavishly supplied with doors, and
separated from the viscount's room by the width of the court-yard.
The viscount stood at his door looking after them.
"Now," said Canolles, "I am sure of my fact; but I have acted like a
fool. To put a bad face on the matter would ruin me irretrievably; I
must assume my most gracious air."
He went out again upon the sort of gallery formed by the exterior
corridor, and cried,--
"Good-night, my dear viscount; sleep well! you sadly need it. Shall I
wake you in the morning? No? Very well, then, do you wake me when you
choose. Good-night!"
"Good-night, baron!"
"By the way," continued Canolles, "is there nothing you lack? shall I
lend you Castorin to wait upon you?"
"Thanks! I have Pompée; he sleeps in the next room."
"A wise precaution; I will see that Castorin does the same. A prudent
measure, eh, Pompée? One can't take too many precautions at an inn.
Good-night, viscount!"
The viscount replied by echoing the compliment, and closed his door.
"Very good, very good, viscount," murmured Canolles; "to-morrow it will
be my turn to engage quarters for the night, and I'll have my revenge.
Aha! he pulls both curtains close at his window; he hangs up a cloth
to intercept his shadow! _Peste!_ a very modest youth is this little
gentleman; but it's all the same. To-morrow."
Canolles entered his room grumbling, undressed in high dudgeon, went to
sleep swearing, and dreamed that Nanon found the viscount's pearl-gray
glove in his pocket.