They reached the shore of the main stream of the Rhône.
Zinzara was on the ground before Renaud had stopped his horse.
He alighted in his turn, and handed the rein to the gipsy. She held Blanchet while he was drinking in the river.
“Now for some oats!” said Renaud.
He took a small sack that was fastened across his saddle-bow, from holster to holster, and at Zinzara’s suggestion emptied it into her dress which she held up with both hands.
Poor, poor Blanchet! there was only a handful of grain.
“Wait for me; I’ll go to find the boat.”
Renaud disappeared in the darkness behind the reeds and willows that grew along the bank, drowned in the mist, floating like pallid spectres in the darkness.
Zinzara heard nothing save the plashing of the water, and the crunching of the oats between Blanchet’s teeth, as he swept them up with his long lip from the hollow of the dress.—Oh! if Livette could have seen that!
“Here I am, come!” said Renaud’s voice.