“No,” was the landlord’s prompt reply.
“Well, we must remain here for the night.”
“But, sir, I have no room in my poor inn for such a company as yours.”
“What you have will serve,” was the response, and the speaker entered the inn, striding past the host.
Francis heard these last words.
“We must come to a great resolution, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “We must separate. Singly you may get through. You will leave me here as I am ill. I will follow as best I can. Go.”
“Never, Sire,” said Leoni, and his one word had two echoes in the little room.
“But—” began Francis, and he stopped, for there was a noise on the stairs, and the landlord was heard exclaiming:
“I assure you, sir, that the room is not fit—”
“Well, there is a light in it anyway.”