"The same Almighty wisdom which instructs the swallow to build in our chimneys, and guides the marten to make his nest among the reeds of our banks, my lad. Well, Claudine," said the ancient oracle of the kitchen to the blooming dairymaid, who just then entered, bearing on her arms two pairs of snowy white sheets, from which an odoriferous smell of sage and thyme was wafted along,—"well, I make no doubt but Madame Georges has sent permission for these poor creatures, the blind man and his child, to sleep here, has she not?"
"These sheets are to prepare beds for them, in the little room at the end of the passage," said Claudine.
"Go and bid them come in, then, Jean René; and you, Claudine, my good girl, put a couple of chairs near the fire—they will be glad of a good warm before sitting down to table."
The furious barking of the dogs was now renewed, mingled with the voice of Jean René, who was endeavoring to pacify them; the door of the kitchen was abruptly opened, and the Schoolmaster and Tortillard entered with as much precipitation as though they feared a pursuit from some dangerous foe.
"For the love of heaven, keep off your dogs!" cried the Schoolmaster, in the utmost terror; "they have been trying to bite us!"
"They have torn a great bit out of my blouse," whined Tortillard, shivering with cold and pale with fear.
"Don't be frightened, good man," said Jean René, shutting the door securely; "but I never before saw our dogs in such a perfect fury—it must be the cold makes them so spiteful; perhaps, being half frozen, they fancied biting you would serve to warm them—there is no knowing what mere animals may mean by what they do."
"Why, are you going to begin, too?" exclaimed the old farmer, as Lysander, who had hitherto lain perfectly happy in the radiance of the glowing fire, started up, and, growling fiercely, was about to fly at the strangers. "This old dog is quiet enough, but, having heard the other dogs make such a furious noise, he thinks he must do the same. Will you lie down and be quiet, you old brute? Do you hear, sir? lie down!"
At these words from Father Châtelain, accompanied by a significant motion of the foot, Lysander, with a low, deep growl of dissatisfaction, slowly returned to his favourite corner by the hearth, while the Schoolmaster and Tortillard remained trembling by the kitchen-door, as though fearful of approaching farther. The features of the ruffian were so hideous, from the frightful effects produced by the cold, that some of the servants in the kitchen shuddered with alarm, while others recoiled in disgust; this impression was not lost on Tortillard, who felt reassured by the terrors of the villagers, and even felt proud of the repulsiveness of his companion. This first confusion over, Father Châtelain, thinking only of worthily discharging the duties of hospitality, said to the Schoolmaster:
"Come, my good friend—come near the fire and warm yourself thoroughly, and then you shall have some supper with us; for you happened to come very fortunately, just as we were sitting down to table. Here, sit down, just where I have placed your chair. But what am I thinking about?" added the worthy old labourer. "I ought to have spoken to your son, not you, seeing that it has pleased God to take away your eyesight—a heavy loss, a heavy loss; but let us hope all for your good, my friend, though you may not now think so. Here, my boy, lead your father to that snug place in the chimney-corner."