It was all over with the landlord's attempted resistance; he felt himself vanquished, and did not attempt a struggle which had now become impossible. Confused and humiliated, he only thought of satisfying this strange guest who had installed himself by main force in the house.
The traveller did not in any way abuse his victory; satisfied with having obtained the result he desired, he did not take the slightest liberty.
The result was that gradually, from one concession to another—the one offering, the other not refusing—they became on the best possible terms; and toward the end of the supper, mine host and the traveller found themselves, without knowing how, the most affectionate friends in the world.
They were talking together. First of the rain and fine weather, the dearness of provisions, the king's illness, and that of his Eminence the Cardinal; then, growing gradually bolder, Master Pivois poured out a huge bumper of wine for his improvised guest, and collected all his courage.
"Do you know, my good gentleman," he said to him suddenly, shaking his head with an air of contrition, "that you are fearfully in my way?"
"Stuff!" the stranger answered, as he tossed off the contents of his glass, and shrugged his shoulders, "Are we coming back to the old story of just now? I thought that settled long ago."
"Alas! I would it were so for everybody as it is for me."
"What do you mean?"
"Pray do not get into a passion, sir," the landlord continued timidly; "I have not the slightest intention of insulting you."
"In that case explain yourself in the Fiend's name, my master, and come frankly to the point; I do not understand what others beside yourself have to do in the matter."