“Keep up, my friends!” said the mayor as he passed them,—“keep up!” Three minutes farther on, a peasant on horseback appeared in the dark, riding along like a forlorn knight in a romance. M. Daubigeon ordered him to halt. He stopped.
“You come from Valpinson?” asked M. Seneschal.
“Yes,” replied the peasant.
“How is the count?”
“He has come to at last.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“He says he will live. I am going to the druggist to get some medicines.” M. Galpin, to hear better, was leaning out of the carriage. He asked,—
“Do they accuse any one?”
“No.”
“And the fire?”