"Swear? I tell you no, that is enough."
"In truth, I place more faith in your promise than in other people’s oaths; but you do not take this money?"
"What for? I don’t want it."
"Well, I will give you some when you go to buy provisions. You will have to go a long distance, and buy at different places, in order not to arouse the slightest suspicion. With this sum and your skill in killing wild goats and in snaring birds, we have enough to live on for years. Well, is it agreed? Do we live together?"
"Yes."
"And you will not mention us to anyone?"
"No."
"And you will never open your door to a traveller until I have gone to the house behind?"
"Never."
These arrangements completed, the vagabond ascended to the upper room, threw himself upon a heap of straw and went to sleep; the old shepherd, who passed a large part of his time in slumber, did the same in the room below. Isaure alone remained awake, on her knees in the vile hovel to which she had been consigned; she held up her hands imploringly to heaven, she raised her eyes, whence the tears flowed in streams, and in her despair had not the strength to utter a single word.