The peasant looked at his comrade and both shook their heads.
“It can’t be done at night.”
“Cowards.”
“Monsieur Louis, a man’s not a coward because he’s afraid.”
“No, indeed; that’s not being a coward,” replied the other.
“Ah!” said Roland, “I wish some stronger minded men than you would face me with that argument; that a man is not a coward because he’s afraid!”
“Well, it’s according to what he’s afraid of, Monsieur Louis. Give me a good sickle and a good cudgel, and I’m not afraid of a wolf; give me a good gun and I’m not afraid of any man, even if I knew he’s waiting to murder me.”
“Yes,” said Edouard, “but you’re afraid of a ghost, even when it’s only the ghost of a monk.”
“Little Master Edouard,” said the peasant, “leave your brother to do the talking; you’re not old enough to jest about such things—”
“No,” added the other peasant, “wait till your beard is grown, my little gentleman.”