"Yes, yes, come!" I cried; and rushing ahead I told my cousin to be comforted, for the news was not nearly so bad as she expected.
She called her grandfather, who was at work in the next room, intending to receive the muleteer in a proper manner; but when she saw him so different from the idea she had kept of him, so unrecognizable in face and clothes, she lost her self-possession and turned away sadly and in much confusion.
Huriel perceived it, for he smiled, and lifting his black hair as if by accident, showed Brulette her token which was still in his ear.
"It is really I," he said, "and no one else. I have come from my own parts expressly to tell you about a friend who, thanks to God, is neither dead nor dying, but of whom I must speak to you at some length. Have you leisure to hear me now?"
"That we have," said Père Brulet. "Sit down, my man, and take something to eat."
"I want nothing," said Huriel, seating himself. "I will wait till your own meal-time. But, first of all, I ought to make myself known to those I am now speaking to."
TENTH EVENING.
"Say on," said my uncle, "we are listening."
Then said the muleteer: "My name is Jean Huriel, muleteer by trade, son of Sebastien Huriel, otherwise called Bastien, the Head-Woodsman, a renowned bagpiper, and considered the best worker in the forests of the Bourbonnais. Those are my names and claims, to which I can bring honorable proof. I know that to win your confidence I ought to present myself in the guise in which I have the right to appear; but men of my calling have a custom—"