At length D'Arragon, who was quick enough in understanding rough men, said—
“No, I don't want any more. I will throw it away.”
And an hour later, while pretending to be asleep, he saw Barlasch get up, and crawl cautiously into the trees where the unsavoury food had been thrown.
“Provided,” muttered Barlasch one day, “that you keep your health. I am an old man. I could not do this alone.”
Which was true, for D'Arragon was carrying all the baggage now.
“We must both keep our health,” answered Louis. “I have eaten worse things than horse.”
“I saw one yesterday,” said Barlasch, with a gesture of disgust; “he had three stripes on his arm, too; he was crouching in a ditch eating something much worse than horse, mon capitaine. Bah! It made me sick. For three sous I would have put my heel on his face. And later on at the roadside I saw where he or another had played the butcher. But you saw none of these things, mon capitaine?”
“It was by that winding stream where a farm had been burnt,” said Louis.
Barlasch glanced at him sideways.
“If we should come to that, mon capitaine....”