“I am thirsty, of course,” he said, “but what I really want is to know whether I can stay here.”
The sound of a mule’s hoofs outside caused Peyrol to start, but the woman arrested him.
“She is only going to the shed. She knows the way. As to what you said, the master will be here directly. Nobody ever comes here. And how long would you want to stay?”
The old rover of the seas looked at her searchingly.
“To tell you the truth, citoyenne, it may be in a manner of speaking for ever.”
She smiled in a bright flash of teeth, without gaiety or any change in her restless eyes that roamed about the empty room as though Peyrol had come in attended by a mob of shades.
“It’s like me,” she said. “I lived as a child here.”
“You are but little more than that now,” said Peyrol, examining her with a feeling that was no longer surprise or curiosity, but seemed to be lodged in his very breast.
“Are you a patriot?” she asked, still surveying the invisible company in the room.
Peyrol, who had thought that he had “done with all that damned nonsense,” felt angry and also at a loss for an answer.