"It was he, then!" cried the Marquis, snatching his servant's hands. "And you saw him? Tell me everything!"
"He is happy," answered Pierre. "But, master, let me tell my story in my own way, for then I shall forget nothing. I went into a little inn, which was as clean as possible and bore the sign, 'France!' A fire of vine branches was sparkling in the big chimney. A boy of about ten came to meet me. 'My friend,' I said, 'is this the inn of Monsieur Simon?'"
"'Yes, sir,' he replied, looking at me with soft, dark eyes. I felt as if I had seen him before."
"What! do you mean——" cried the Marquis.
"Wait, master, wait. I told him that I wanted supper and a bed. The boy ran toward a little door and called: 'Mamma! Mamma!' A woman appeared in peasant dress, with dark hair and eyes. She carried a little girl on one arm. The mother looked about thirty, and the girl was some six years of age.
"'Take a chair, sir,' said the mistress of the house. 'We will do the best we can for you.' Then she told the boy to take the horse to the stable and call his father. I took my seat by the fire and reflected that Simon would not be likely to know me, if it were he, as he had not seen me for thirty years. You had bidden me take care not to betray myself, but I knew that Time had done his work.
"'The country about here looks very dreary,' I said to Madame Simon. She turned in surprise from her work. She was laying the table for my supper.
"'Ah! you are a stranger here!' she answered with a smile. 'No, it is not dreary; it is much pleasanter here than in the cities.'
"'But in winter?' I persisted.
"'Oh! the mountains are magnificent then.'