"Yes, monsieur; but it's easy enough to find old Marguerite's cabin. If you take the path to the left from the one where the willows are, you'll come to a clearing; then go down a low hill, and the cabin is in front of you."
"Very good, my boy; thank you."
"But here you are at Grenoble; you don't need me any more, do you, monsieur?"
"No, my boy; here, take this with the other, for your trouble."
"Thank you very much, monsieur; if you ever need anyone in the village to help you, my name's Julien, and I'd be glad to work for you."
"Very well; I will remember."
The two horsemen dismounted; the young guide took their place, doffed his cap to the travellers, and rode away at a footpace. Frédéric, musing upon all that he had heard, walked in silence beside his two companions, who, as they entered Grenoble, were discussing the proper way to serve a canard aux olives—a discussion in which they had been engaged for some time, Dubourg insisting upon the method in vogue in Bretagne, and Ménard immovable in the principles he had learned from the Cuisinier Royal.
On reaching the inn, they retired to take the rest of which they stood in need after so tiresome a day. But Frédéric could not sleep; the dumb girl's face was constantly in his thoughts; he thought of her misfortune, of the pathetic story he had heard, and he said to himself:
"How dearly she loved her brother! What a loving heart! How she will love, when love makes itself known to her! What pleasure to awaken love in her heart! to read in her lovely eyes, which fill the place so well of the organ she has lost!"
This thought kept Frédéric busy all night. At daybreak, he rose, and, leaving his companions to enjoy the repose which he could not obtain, left the inn, ordered a horse, and galloped away toward Vizille.