"I tell you," a voice, harsh and rough, was saying, "the war is over! Otherwise how would he be here? I tell you I have seen him. And we know, we old and tried soldiers, that none leave the ranks till peace is signed." After which the speaker emitted a laugh as raucous as, and fitting mate to, his speech.
"Ha!" said another, "that is all very well for such poor devils as we are, 'when peace is signed.' But with him, now, of the noblesse--and of Turenne's staff, they say--'tis different. They leave the army when it goes into winter quarters; he would do so. Curse him! He needs come here to harry us about."
"Ay, but we will harry him, too, in God's good time. Some day he shall come back from other wars and find he has no home to enter. We will light the mountain tops with the flames of his old house in spite of his being Vicomte and----"
Unfortunately, at this moment, Andrew--who, at the words "of Turenne's staff" first, and of "Vicomte" next, had pricked up his ears wondering on what he had lighted on now, and what revelations he was about to hear--was prevented from listening to any more of their talk. His horse, chilled and cold, shook itself violently, rattling as it did so its bridle and chain and stirrups, so that none within could fail to hear the noise it made.
In an instant there was silence in the hut; a moment later a door was flung open and the shadow of a man, blurred and indistinct in the foul air that was lit up by the surly light cast out, was visible through the fog.
"Who's there?" came in an instant a different voice which Andrew had not previously heard, and, as he advanced to where the figure of the man was, he answered: "A traveller seeking shelter for the night for himself and animal; shelter at least till it is clearer, and he can pursue his way."
"There is no shelter here, monsieur," the voice replied, and the expression "monsieur" told him he was dealing with Lorrainers now. "None."
"My friend, there must be. We are cold and perishing, and I see you have a fire within. Let me come in," and, suiting the action to the word, he pushed up against the man standing in the doorway, who fell back somewhat at the sight of the stalwart figure before him. Yet he was stalwart, too, or had been once when younger, though he was now old and presented to Andrew nothing but the wreck of a powerful man. Still, old as he was, he seemed inclined to resent the intrusion and appeared almost as though about to bar his entrance, when another voice from within exclaimed--
"Nay, Gaspard, if the traveller wants warmth and shelter let him come in. Poor as our auberge is, doubtless he will pay for his accommodation."
"Doubtless," replied Andrew, not stopping, however, his inward progress while he spoke, but advancing towards the fire where he warmed his hands and feet, glancing round all the time at the inhabitants of the hut and thinking them about as villainous a looking crew as he had ever set eyes on. Nevertheless, this did not deter him from the resolve he had taken of obtaining shelter here, if not food, nor prevent him from assuming the masterful manner which he saw at once was the only one likely to serve him now.