"I am glad to hear it, my boy, and—but will you have some dinner? We can talk while eating."
"Will I have some dinner? Well, I should say so! I did not share the meals of the other travelers, and for the best of reasons," laughed the young man gaily, slapping his empty wallet.
"Upon my word, you lost but little, my son," rejoined the father, cutting the slice of ham into two unequal pieces and giving the largest to the young man, "those hotel dinners are expensive and not worth much!"
Having offered Louis a formidable piece of bread, the old man helped himself to a crust, and both father and son bravely attacked the meager meal, with robust appetites, sprinkling it plentifully with glorious draughts of clear water.
"Tell me all about your journey now, my boy," resumed the old man, when he had satisfied the first pangs of hunger.
"Really, father, there is not much to tell," remarked Louis. "The notary had given me copies of several deeds, which M. Ramon was to read. Well, he read and studied them most leisurely, taking five whole days! after which the said papers were given back to me, profusely annotated by that wary parsonage, and—thank heaven—here I am at last!"
"Thank heaven?—can it be that you were lonely at Dreux?" queried the old man, looking up anxiously.
"I was bored to death, my dear father."
"What kind of a man must this M. Ramon be, that you were so displeased?"
"The very worst kind in the world—a miser."