At this the count gave a long whistle.
“At Sur Varne!” he exclaimed. “If thou speakest truly, my little man, thou hast indeed a sturdy pair of legs to carry thee thus far.” And he eyed curiously Félix’s dusty little feet and leathern leggings, dangling limply from the bough above him.
“Dost thou know how far distant is Sur Varne from this forest?”
“Nay, sir,” answered Félix; “but I trow ’tis a great way.”
“There thou art right,” said the count; “’tis a good two leagues, if it is a pace. But how now? Thou canst not bide here to become the prey of hungry wolves, my little night-owl of the yellow hair!”
And thereupon Count Bernard dexterously raised himself in his stirrups, and, reaching upward, caught Félix in his arms and swung him down plump on the saddle-bow in front of him; then, showing him how to steady himself by holding the pommel, he turned to Brian, his squire, who while all this was going on had stood by in silent astonishment, and giving the order to move, the little cavalcade hastened on at a rapid pace in order to get clear of the forest as quickly as possible.
Meantime the Count Bernard, who was really a very kind and noble lord, and who lived in a beautiful castle on the farther verge of the forest, quite reassured Félix by talking to him kindly, and telling him of the six days’ journey from which he and his squire, Brian, were just returning, and how they had been delayed on the way until nightfall.
“And, by my faith!” said Count Bernard, “’twas a lucky hour for thee that snapped my horse’s saddle-girth! else we should have passed this wood by midday—and then, little popinjay, what wouldst thou have done had we not chanced along to pluck thee from out thy chilly nest? Hey? Wolves had been but poor comrades for such as thee!”
At this Félix began to shiver, and the count hastened to add: