"And when I think," said Petit-Pierre, "that General Dermoncourt is probably at this moment eating my supper at Souday, isn't it aggravating?" Then, suddenly, "Oh! forgive me, my dear guide," he went on, "but my stomach got the better of my heart; I forgot to offer you half my supper."
"Thanks," replied Bonneville; "but my appetite isn't strong enough yet to munch stones. In return for your gracious offer, I'll show you how to make your poor supper less husky."
Bonneville took the bread, broke it, not without difficulty, into little bits, soaked it in a brook that was flowing quite near them, called Petit-Pierre, sat down himself on one side the brook, while Petit-Pierre sat on the other, and taking out one by one the softened crusts, presented them to his famished companion.
"Upon my honor!" said the latter, when he came to the last crumb, "I haven't eaten such a good supper for twenty years. Bonneville, I appoint you steward of my household."
"Meantime," said the count, "I am your guide. Come, luxury enough; we must continue our way."
"I'm ready," said Petit-Pierre, springing gayly to his feet.
Again they started through the woods, and half an hour's walking brought them to a river which they were forced to cross. Bonneville tried his usual method; but at the first step, the water came to his waist, at the second to his shoulders. Feeling himself dragged by the current he caught at the branch of a tree and returned to the bank.
It was necessary to find a way to cross. At a distance of about three hundred yards Bonneville thought he had found one; but it was nothing more than the trunk of a tree lately blown down by the wind, and still bearing all its branches.
"Do you think you can walk over that?" he asked Petit-Pierre.
"If you can, I can," replied the latter.