In a moment I saw them leading Fronsac in, and they set him down opposite me, one of the men taking the precaution to stand guard between. Presently the women passed, and I saw Mademoiselle smile at my companion—a smile which brought the glad blood to his cheek and in which there was life and hope. The others did not even glance in our direction, though I watched them till they had disappeared into an inner room.
But a woman’s coldness could not rob me of the grateful warmth of the fire. How good it felt! My clothing was soon steaming in the heat, and I struggled to my feet and turned slowly about before the blaze in order to dry myself more thoroughly. I felt better with every minute, save for a great and growing emptiness within, for I had eaten nothing since my hasty breakfast with Fronsac at Montauban.
It was perhaps half an hour before one of the men came back to us and ordered us to follow him. He led the way to the right through a doorway into a lofty room, which, shattered and time-stained as it was, retained still some traces of its former beauty. At one end was the great fireplace, and in this a fire had been kindled and two men were busily engaged preparing food. A lamb had been bought or stolen somewhere, stripped deftly of its hide, dismembered, and set to roast before the fire, and most savory and inviting did it smell. A pile of bread, nearer black than white, was heaped upon a table, and to this we were led and told to take what we wanted. A dripping piece of meat was added, and we sat down again in our warm corners to enjoy it. Even now it makes my mouth run to think of that meal and how good it tasted.
I could see that Fronsac relished it too, though the blood in his cheek may have come from happiness. The guard still watched between us to prevent our talking, while the others sat before the fire, crunching their bread and meat. A sorry-looking lot they were, gathered, doubtless, from the banditti who infested the mountains—Spaniards most of them, swarthy and dirty, with countenances where one might search in vain for a trace of kindliness. Yet sitting there I caught a glimpse of the joy they got from life—a hard day’s march or stirring fight, and then, after it, a snug seat close before a good fire, with bread and meat, and, oh! such hunger to relish it!
The women I saw nothing of, and I thanked fortune that they had a place apart in which to pass the night. But it was evidently here that we were to sleep, for some of the men had already rolled themselves in their cloaks and lay down against the wall, a saddle for pillow, prepared to spend the night with what comfort they could. Not one of them, except the guard between us, seemed to give us the slightest heed, and for the first time since I had awakened with the water of the river in my ears the thought of escape came to me. With only one man to deal with, it would not be a difficult thing, provided he could be silenced without awaking any of the others. At least, it was worth thinking over. I got slowly to my feet, stretched my arms, and yawned. Then I took a step towards the door, but the sentry stopped me.
“You will remain here, Monsieur,” he said.
“But I am weary,” I protested. “Where am I to spend the night?”
He grinned and pointed back at the corner.
“You will spend it there,” he said. “But here comes Drouet, whose business it is to look after you.”
As he spoke the fellow who had ridden at my right all evening entered, and with him another whom I remembered having seen with Fronsac. They came direct to us, spread their cloaks before the fire, and Drouet motioned me to seat myself on his.