"But there’s no sense in lying in bed at the mercy of every passer-by!"
"Do you suppose anyone is passing at this hour?"
"Nobody knows.—However, I’ll put the table in front of the door; that will offer some little resistance."
"Why don’t you put yourself there?"
"Oh, of course! to act as chevaux de frise for you! God! what a pleasant night I am going to have! I trust that I can find the table."
Robineau felt his way about the room, and, having found the table, placed it against the door; then, feeling a little more at ease in his mind, he threw himself on his sheepskins again, and exclaimed with a long-drawn sigh:
"Was it worth while to buy a château, to be rich, to inherit Uncle Gratien’s fortune, in order to lie on sheepskins like an Indian? I shall be able to say that I have known the vicissitudes of fortune.—It is stifling in this damned hovel. Not even a pillow or a bolster to put one’s head on! God! how I will make up for this to-morrow at La Roche-Noire! I will lie in cotton!—I shall never be able to sleep in this bed; it smells horribly of game.—I say, Alfred! Alfred! are you comfortable on your straw?"
"My dear Robineau," replied Alfred with a yawn, "it’s the novelty of the position that makes its charm; it seems so amusing to me to lie on straw!—Only it’s a pity not to have a little Auvergnate—because—oh——"
"Because what?" said Robineau.—"Well! he’s asleep.—I say, Monsieur Edouard, are you asleep, too?—It seems that the poet sleeps; I will try to follow his example. If only I could dream of my poor château, at which I have so much difficulty in arriving!—God grant that that witch may not come here to-night and cast a spell on us! With their White House—they’ll give me bad dreams!"
However, fatigue triumphed over fear, and Robineau fell into a deep sleep, like his companions.