“So you do it, I will not quarrel,” Péron replied, relieved at his success; for Ferré was noted for his stubborn independence, and, at first, it seemed likely that he would do nothing until he was ready to begin his day’s work.
The conciliation of the blacksmith was not the end of the trouble, however, for the fire must be built and the anvil prepared for the task. This meant no little delay, and while Ferré set about his business Péron decided to go to the inn and get something to eat, that there might be no further need of halting until noon. He had little apprehension of attracting any notice at the public house at that hour, and repaired thither at once. He was met with the same difficulty which had assailed him at the smithy; but here his purse prevailed, and in a little while he had procured a simple meal and eaten it in the solitude which he coveted. The delay had been sufficient to permit Ferré to make good progress, and when Péron returned, the big blacksmith was putting the finishing touches to his work.
“There,” he said, looking up as the young musketeer approached, “’tis well done, and the animal can travel now without discomfort; your city smiths make a poor show, if this was a sample.”
“Not many men could hope to equal you, Ferré,” Péron retorted, smiling; “I remember that M. de Condé thought no man could shoe a horse like you.”
The blacksmith’s face relaxed a little; he stood with his great arms folded while Péron mounted, and he would accept no pay.
“Keep your money,” he said, with a shrug, “I fancy you are not so rich as I am, for all your fine clothes. I remember you, too, as a little lad in a blue taffety jacket well worn at the elbows; it would shame me to take a guerdon from you, boy.” He paused, glancing down the road toward the château. “You have had a friend here looking for you,” he added, “or a foe, I know not which.”
Péron started. “What do you mean?” he asked sharply.
“A man has been here in your absence,” the smith replied, “and he seemed to know your horse; he asked where you were, but I would not tell him, and he took the road to the château.”
“What sort of a man?” Péron asked, with a momentary thought of Choin which was destroyed by the answer.
“A man of middle size, fair, and, I think, a soldier,” replied Ferré, “though he wore the dress of a merchant rather than a man-at-arms; and he was muffled in a green cloak and rode a dun-colored mare.”