Dubourg joined him, having left his partner because he saw that he would have nothing but his capers and prancing for his pains, and because the cuffing the peasant had given him had cooled his ardor for the dance.
"Where on earth have you been?" he asked; "you left us at just the wrong time."
"I have been taking a walk."
"What a tireless walker you are! But it seems to me that it's time for us to walk to Grenoble, which is still four leagues away."
They joined Ménard, who complimented Dubourg on his dancing. Frédéric inquired the shortest way to Grenoble, and a young villager offered to guide them part of the way; but Ménard did not seem capable of walking four leagues, and even Dubourg was dismayed by the distance. The villager suggested his farm horse, on condition that they should ride him at a footpace. The suggestion was gratefully accepted by Dubourg and Ménard; the latter rode behind, clinging fast to the baron. Frédéric went on foot with their guide.
The weather was superb, and the fields were bathed in moonlight. The forests of fir rose majestically on their left hand, and the smith's hammer alone broke the silence of the night. As they passed a forge, a bright glare would efface for a moment the moon's bluish light, and cast a reddish gleam over the landscape. The voices of the workmen blending with the clang of the hammer inspired Dubourg to say to Ménard:
"Do you hear the Cyclops forging Jupiter's thunderbolts?"
And Ménard replied:
"Not for all the gold of Peru would I venture among those people alone, at night."
And he dug his heels into their charger, which did not quicken its pace. Dubourg and the tutor were a little behind the others, because the road was very stony and the horse could make but slow progress. The guide was a boy of twelve, ingenuous and frank like most mountaineers.