As he moved forward to shelter his horse more effectually behind the rock, the young man discovered that he was not alone. Another man had come to that spot in search of shelter, or perhaps had taken possession of it first. It was impossible to tell, in those alternations of dazzling light and intense darkness. The horseman had not time to obtain a good view of the pedestrian; he seemed to be wretchedly dressed and not of very attractive appearance. Indeed he seemed inclined to keep out of sight by crouching as far under the rock as possible; but as soon as he concluded, from an exclamation of the traveller, that he was discovered, he unhesitatingly addressed him in a loud, clear voice:
"This is bad weather for riding, monsieur, and if you're wise you will go back to Eguzon to sleep."
"Much obliged, my friend," replied the young man, making his stout, lead-handled hunting-crop whistle through the air, in order to give his problematical companion to understand that he was armed.
The latter understood the warning and answered it by tapping the rock, as if absent-mindedly, with an enormous holly staff, which broke off several splinters of stone. The weapon was stout and so was the wrist that wielded it.
"You won't go far to-night in such weather," continued the pedestrian.
"I shall go as far as I choose," replied the horseman, "and I should not advise anybody to take it into his head to delay me on the way."
"Are you afraid of robbers that you meet friendly overtures with threats? I don't know what province you come from, my young man, but you hardly seem to know what province you are in. Thank God, there are neither highwaymen, nor assassins among us."
The stranger's proud but frank tone inspired confidence. The young man rejoined more mildly:
"You're of this province, are you, comrade?"
"Yes, monsieur, I am, and always shall be."