The winding street led to the inn; though it was still so early the place was open; a boy was whistling while he rubbed down a horse, his plump aspect had something grotesque in it to the famished man.
A woman came out of the inn and threw a pail of dirty water across the street; the Marquis stupidly noticed the long dark trails of wet across the dust that were trickling slowly to his feet. The boy looked up and saw him as he stood hesitating.
“Good morning, citizen.”
“Good morning, citizen,” answered the Marquis in a voice feeble from weakness and long silence. “Can I get some food here?”
“If you can pay for it, citizen.”
“Yes, I can pay.”
The boy straightened himself and looked at the wild and miserable figure advancing towards him.
“Who are you, citizen?” he asked, and the Marquis saw suspicion creep into his common dull face.
“I am a servant looking for a place; my last was in Paris–I have walked a long way–I mean to get to Bourg-la-Reine to-night.”
“Well, it is not far,” answered the peasant with an instant insolence of the poor towards the ragged.