Suddenly Morgan grasped Valensolle’s arm, and pressed it with all his might.
“Hey” said Valensolle “what now?”
Roland had just thrown his three-cornered hat on a chair and Morgan had recognized him.
“Roland de Montrevel!” he exclaimed, “Roland in a sergeant’s uniform! This time we are on his track while he is still seeking ours. It behooves us not to lose it.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Valensolle, observing that his friend was preparing to leave him.
“Inform our companions. You stay here and do not lose sight of him. He has taken off his sword, and laid his pistols aside, therefore it is probable he intends to spend the night in the captain’s room. To-morrow I defy him to take any road, no matter which, without one of us at his heels.”
And Morgan sliding down the declivity of the hay, disappeared from sight, leaving his companion crouched like a sphinx, with his eyes fixed on Roland de Montrevel.
A quarter of an hour later Morgan returned. By this time the officer’s windows were dark like all the others of the barracks.
“Well?” asked Morgan.
“Well,” replied Valensolle, “it ended most prosaically. They undressed themselves, blew out the candles, and lay down, the captain on his bed, Roland on a mattress. They are probably trying to outsnore each other at the present moment.”