"Of course not," said Richon; "an old soldier!"
"When one has fought against the Spaniards, and been wounded at the battle of Corbie—"pursued Pompée, swelling up.
"One doesn't know what fear is, eh? Oh, well, that is most fortunate, for Monsieur le Vicomte is by no means at ease, I warn you."
"Oh!" exclaimed Pompée, turning pale, "are you afraid?"
"Not with you, my good Pompée," said the viscount. "I know you, and I know that you would sacrifice your own life before anything should happen to me."
"To be sure, to be sure," rejoined Pompée; "but if you are too much afraid, we might wait until to-morrow."
"Impossible, my good Pompée. So take the gold and put it in your saddle-bags; I will join you in a moment."
"It's a large sum to expose to the risks of a journey at night," said Pompée, lifting the bag.
"There's no risk; at all events, Richon says so. Are the pistols in the holsters, the sword in the scabbard, and the musket slung on its hook?"
"You forget," replied the old squire, drawing himself up, "that when a man has been a soldier all his life, he doesn't allow himself to be caught napping. Yes, Monsieur le Vicomte, everything is in its place."