However, as he owned nothing that was likely to tempt cupidity, the peasant shared his supper with Edouard none the less; then he invited him to undress and go to bed. Edouard accepted this invitation with a good heart; he had taken off his jacket and was about to remove his waistcoat, when a sudden reflection stopped him, and he stood before the wood-cutter, speechless with confusion.
“Well, have you got over wanting to go to bed?” said the peasant, noticing Edouard’s sudden terror.
“I beg pardon; I am going—I am going to lie down.”
“It seems to me that you started to undress yourself, and now you stand there as if you didn’t know what to do.”
“Oh! the fact is, I thought better of it; it will be wiser for me to stay dressed, so that I can get ready quicker to go away in the morning.”
“As you please! suit yourself.”
Edouard threw himself on the bed, and the wood-cutter did the same; but not with the purpose of going to sleep; he was secretly anxious, for he was afraid that he had offered shelter to a scoundrel, and he was trying to think how he could set his doubts at rest.
The miserable wretch, who was overdone with fatigue, and who had not slept on so soft a couch for a weary while, soon yielded to the sleep that took possession of him. The wood-cutter, who had pretended to do the same, rose softly as soon as he was certain that the stranger whom he had made welcome was asleep.
He left the room, and struck a light in a small cave. He lighted a lamp, took his gun, and noiselessly returned to the small room where Edouard lay. The unhappy man’s sleep was disturbed and restless; he struggled and twisted violently on his couch, and broken sentences escaped from his lips; the wood-cutter listened and distinctly heard these words:
“On the road—in the middle of the night—he was murdered—take off these irons, relieve me of these chains which prevent me from escaping.”