"I must call him.—Messieurs, messieurs, you fellows who are still on your legs, have the kindness to call my esquire, my page, my varlet—that rascal who is going off with the lanterns yonder, without taking the trouble to see if his master is following him."
These words were addressed to three other young gentlemen who had halted a few yards away. Among them was Léodgard de Marvejols, whose features were far from denoting hilarity, and who did not seem, like some of his friends, to have left his reason at the bottom of his glass.
The servant, being recalled, came back and placed a lighted lantern on the ground, near the two gentlemen who were already seated on the grass. The others decided to join them; but Léodgard remained a little behind, leaning thoughtfully against a solitary tree.
"Do you propose to stay here, my fine fellows?" he asked.
"Yes; the fresh air has finished us, we cannot stand on our legs any longer."
"It is a fact that the supper was delicious and the wines exquisite. Montrevert did things very handsomely; his petite maison is a delightful place."
"Speaking of Montrevert, did he not say that he was coming with us?"
"Yes; he said: 'Go on, and I will overtake you.'"
"Well, he does not seem to have overtaken us, and we are a good quarter of a league from his house."
"That is true, and it is an additional reason why we should rest here and wait for him."