They made a bed with the sheepskins in one corner of the hovel; but Alfred and Edouard preferred to lie on the straw, whereon they stretched themselves, laughing good-humoredly; while the three young Auvergnats did the same near by. The old man followed the example of his grandchildren and lay down beside his he-goat. Claude and his wife retired to the other compartment of the hovel, to which a rough sort of curtain served as a door. But, before joining his wife, Claude blew out the lamp, and only an occasional fitful gleam from the fire lighted the interior.
"Why do you put out the light?" cried Robineau.
"Oh! because it wouldn’t be safe to keep it lighted all night, monsieur. If the house should catch fire, we should all be baked like coals."
With that, he threw water on the remains of the fire, to extinguish it completely.
"How amusing this is!" said Robineau; "to go to bed without a light—I, who always have my night light in Paris!—By the way, mountaineer, are you sure you locked the door of your cottage?"
The shepherd made no reply; he had gone to join his wife, by whom he lay down, and ere long their prolonged snoring, reinforced by that of the old man and the three boys, announced that the whole family was enjoying sound sleep.
"How pleasant!" muttered Robineau, throwing himself testily on his sheepskins; "the idea of sleeping in the midst of an uproar like this! It seems to me as if I were at a funeral, with six bass horns tooting in my ears!—I say, my friends, can you sleep?"
Alfred and Edouard in reply made a pretence of snoring with the rest.
"They’re asleep! they’re very lucky!—But that peasant didn’t answer my question about the door; I’ll just go and make sure that we’re safe."
Robineau rose, felt his way to the door, found the latch, raised it, opened the door, and discovered to his horror that it could be opened as easily from the outside.