"This," replied the other: "there is no place for us in that house. A guest is there whose presence fills it."
"Who is he?"
"Death."
"Who is dead?"
"He whose hospitality we came to ask. I would suggest to you to make a shield of his death and stay here; but I heard some one say that Tinguy died of typhoid fever, and though doctors deny the contagion, I cannot consent to expose you to it."
"You are not afraid that you were seen and recognized?"
"No, impossible. There were eight or ten persons, men and women, praying round the bed. I went in and knelt down and prayed with them. That is what all Breton and Vendéan peasants do in such cases."
"Well, what can we do now?" asked the younger of the two.
"I have already told you. We had to decide between the château of my former comrade or the cottage of the poor fellow who was to have been our guide,--between luxury and a princely house with poor security, and a narrow cottage, bad beds, buckwheat bread, and absolute safety. God himself has decided the matter. We have no choice; we must take the insecure comfort."
"But you think the château is not safe?"