There were two tables in the principal eating-room. The provost took possession of one, leaving the other to the soldiers, who went in turn to tether their horses under a shed in the back yard; then he pointed to a stool for the prisoner, and seated himself opposite to him, rapping the table with his thick cane.
“Ouf!” he cried, with a fresh groan of weariness, “I heartily beg your pardon, marquis, for the bad wine I am giving you!”
The young man smiled gaily.
“The wine is all very well, monsieur provost,” said he, “but I cannot conceal from you that however agreeable your company is to me, this halt is very inconvenient; I am in a hurry to get through my ridiculous situation, and I should have liked to arrive in time to stop this affair at once.”
The girl of the house was standing before the table with a pewter pot which she had just brought, and at these words she raised her eyes on the prisoner, with a reassured look which seemed to say, “I was sure that he was innocent.”
“But,” continued the marquis, carrying the glass to his lips, “this wine is not so bad as you say, monsieur provost.”
Then turning to the girl, who was eyeing his gloves and his ruff—
“To your health, pretty child.”
“Then,” said the provost, amazed at this free and easy air, “perhaps I shall have to beg you to excuse your sleeping quarters.”
“What!” exclaimed the marquis, “do we sleep here?”