"The château belongs to a friend of my childhood, whose father was made a baron by the Restoration. The father is dead, and the widow and son are now living in the château. If the son were alone, I should have no anxiety. He is rather weak, but his heart is sound. It is his mother I fear; she is selfish and ambitious, and I could not trust her."
"Oh, pooh! just for one night! You are not adventurous, Rameau-d'or."
"Yes I am, on my own account; but I am answerable to France, or at any rate, to my party for the life of Ma--"
"For Petit-Pierre. Ah, Rameau-d'or, that is the tenth forfeit you owe me since we started."
"It shall be the last, Ma--Petit-Pierre, I should say. In future I will think of you by no other name, and in no other relation than that of my brother."
"Come, then; let us go to the château. I am so weary that I would ask shelter of an ogress,--if there were any."
"We'll take a crossroad, which will carry us there in ten minutes," said the young man. "Seat yourself more comfortably in the saddle; I will walk before you, and you must follow me; otherwise we might miss the path, which is very faint."
"Wait a moment," said Petit-Pierre, slipping from his horse.
"Where are you going?" asked Rameau-d'or, anxiously.
"You said your prayer beside that poor peasant, and I want to say mine."