Taking a piece of carpet that lay before the stove, the young man began to rub the ass so vigorously, that in a few moments he himself was all in a glow.
“I was fairly warned,” he said to Puffo, who was lighting the fire, “that the ass would suffer from the cold beyond the fifty-second degree of north latitude; but I did not believe it. The ass is not so delicate as the horse, which lives in Lapland; and besides, this one of ours is so healthy and good-natured! We can only hope that he will be as lucky as ourselves, and will keep alive for several days. He has not refused to work yet, and the poor beast carries with perfect docility a larger load than two horses would probably take, at least without being very much urged.”
“No matter for that!” replied Puffo, kneeling before the stove, which was beginning to roar and sputter as if it were going to burn well; “you ought to have sold him in Stockholm, where so many people wanted him.”
“Sell Jean! Sell him to be stuffed for a museum? Never, so help me heaven! He has worked well for me for a whole year; and, for my part, I love this faithful servant. Who knows, Puffo, whether I shall be able to say as much for you a year hence?”
“Pshaw, Master Cristiano! I don’t care. Sentiment is not in my line; and I should trouble myself very little about the ass, if I could only find something to eat and drink.”
“There is something in that, I confess. Sentiment does not take away the appetite, and I am as hungry as all the devils. Come, Puffo, let us be sensible, and go over what we have heard. They said at the new chateau—‘We have no room for you here. Even if you should come in the name of the king, we could not find you a corner as large as your hand. Go and lodge at the farm.’ At the farm they said about the same thing; but they gave us a lantern, and showing us a road cut out over the ice of the lake, advised us to go to the old chateau. The road is not agreeable, I acknowledge, amid these whirlwinds of snow, but the distance is short. You can return in ten minutes, at the outside, and my opinion is that you will have to make up your mind to do this, if you want any supper.”
“But what if they turn us away from the farm as they did from the new chateau? They will say, perhaps, that they have already too much company to provide for, and that they have not a scrap of bread left for vagrants like us.”
“The fact is, that our appearance is not prepossessing. That is what makes me afraid that this worthy M. Stenson, the old overseer who lives somewhere about the building, and who is very ill-tempered, they say, will drive us off the premises. But listen, Puffo: either the good man must be fast asleep, since we have succeeded in breaking open the door of the court and reaching this room without hindrance, or the noise of the wind drowns every other sound. Now what we have to do is to steal quietly into the kitchen, and the devil is to pay if we cannot find anything there.”
“Much obliged to you,” said Puffo; “I prefer recrossing the lake and going to the farm. There the people, although busy, were very polite, while old Stenson, it seems, is wicked, and a sort of monomaniac.”
“Just as you choose, my good Puffo; off with you! Bring something back, if it is a possible thing, to warm us up a little. One word more, my sublime companion;—listen once for all.”