"Say what you like."
"I shall say that we are Moors from Spain, that we have come from Granada to give lessons in castanets. That will prevent all suspicion, and our rather dark skins will foster the supposition."
Julia did not listen further to Chaudoreille and walked towards the château, while the chevalier, not caring to remount, took both horses by their bridles and went hobbling along to the village.
Chaudoreille inquired for the best inn. There was only one in the village and he reached it, leading his two horses after him. The master of the inn came to meet him, and Chaudoreille, trying to pull himself up, said to him,—
"I am Malek-al-Chiras of Granada, professor of castanets in the two Spains, and come to France with my sister, Salamalech, to dance the bolero before Cardinal Richelieu. We shall perhaps stay for some time in this village, but we wish to preserve the strictest incognito. Do you understand?"
"I don't understand very well," said the innkeeper, looking stupidly at him.
"In that case, prepare at once an omelette with bacon, give me a room, and take care of my horses, which are Arabian."
The innkeeper understood this better, and led his guest to a chamber on the first floor, to which Chaudoreille mounted with pain, so greatly had his long ride on horseback discommoded him.
After resting for some hours he went to the table, and had been there for a long time when Julia came in search of him.
"I awaited you with impatience," said Chaudoreille, while dismembering his third pigeon.