He had a frank, ruddy, smiling face, a firm walk and the voice of a stentor. His hunting costume, neat and clean although patched at the elbow, his coarse shirt, his leather gaiters, his grizzly beard which was patiently waiting for Sunday,—everything about him indicated that his life was rough and wild, whereas his pleasant face, his hearty, affectionate manners and an ease of bearing, not unmixed with dignity, recalled the courteous gentleman and the man who was accustomed to protect and assist, rather than to be protected and assisted.
His companion the peasant was not nearly as presentable. The storm and the muddy roads had wrought havoc with his jacket and his shoes. While the nobleman's beard may have been six or seven days old, the villager's was fully fourteen or fifteen. He was thin, bony and wiry, several inches taller than the other, and although his face also expressed good-nature and cordiality, it had, if we may so describe it, flashes of malevolence, of melancholy and haughty aloofness. It was evident that he had more intelligence or was more unfortunate than the lord of Châteaubrun.
"Well, monsieur," said the nobleman, "are you a little dryer than you were? You are welcome here and my supper is at your service."
"I am grateful for your generous welcome," replied the traveller, "but I am afraid you will deem me lacking in courtesy if I do not tell you first of all who I am."
"No matter, no matter," rejoined the count, whom hereafter we shall call Monsieur Antoine, as he was generally called in the neighborhood; "you can tell me that later, if you choose; so far as I am concerned, I have no questions to ask you, and I consider that I can satisfy the demands of hospitality without making you give your names and titles. You are travelling, you are a stranger in the province, caught by an infernal night at the very gate of my house; those are your titles and your claims. In addition you have an attractive face and a manner that pleases me; I believe therefore that I shall be rewarded for my confidences by the pleasure of having accommodated a good fellow. Come, sit you down, and eat and drink."
"You are too kind and I am touched by your frank and amiable manner of welcoming strangers. But I do not need any refreshment, monsieur, and it is quite enough that you should allow me to wait here until the end of the storm. I had supper at Eguzon hardly an hour ago. So do not serve anything for me, I beg you."
"You have supped already? why, that's no reason! Is your stomach one of those that can digest only one meal at a time? At your age I would have supped every hour in the night if I had had the chance. A ride in the saddle and the mountain air are quite enough to renew the appetite. To be sure, one's stomach is less obliging at fifty; so that I consider myself well-treated if I have half a glass of good wine with a crust of stale bread. But do not stand on ceremony here. You have come in the nick of time, for I was just about to sit down, and as my poor little one has a sick-headache to-day, Janille and I were very depressed at the idea of eating alone: so your arrival is a comfort to us, and this good fellow's too, my old playmate, whom I am always glad to see. Come, sit you down here beside me," he said to the peasant, "and you, Mère Janille, opposite me. Do the honors; for you know I have a heavy hand, and when I undertake to carve, I cut the joint and platter and cloth, and sometimes the table, and you don't like that."
The supper which Dame Janille had spread on the table with an air of condescension consisted of a goat's-milk cheese, a sheep's-milk cheese, a plate of nuts, a plateful of prunes, a large round loaf of rye bread, and four jugs of wine brought by the master in person. The table-companions set about discussing this frugal meal with evident satisfaction, with the exception of the traveller, who had no appetite, and who was well content to observe the good grace with which the worthy host invited him, without embarrassment or false shame, to partake of his splendid banquet. There was in that cordial and ingenuous ease something at once fatherly and childlike which won the young man's heart.
True to the law of generosity which he had imposed upon himself, Monsieur Antoine asked his guest no questions and even avoided remarks which might suggest curiosity in disguise. The peasant seemed a little more uneasy and was more reserved. But soon, being insensibly drawn into the general conversation which Monsieur Antoine and Dame Janille had begun, he laid aside his reserve and allowed his glass to be filled so often that the traveller began to stare in amazement at a man capable of drinking so much, not only without losing his wits but without departing from his usual self-possession and gravity.
But with the master of the house it was very different. He had not drunk half of the contents of the jug beside him when his eye began to kindle, his nose to turn red and his hand to tremble. However he did not lose his wits, even after all the jugs had been emptied by himself and his friend the peasant—for Janille, whether from economy or from natural sobriety, merely poured a few drops of wine into her water, and the traveller, having made a heroic effort to swallow the first bumper, abstained from further indulgence in that sour, cloudy and execrable beverage.