"Two leagues more!" exclaimed the wayfarer; "and I am quite exhausted now. I would willingly give a pistole for a chance to lie down, and for something to eat at this moment."
"A pistole!" said Arnauld, ever on the alert, as of old, when money was to be had. "Well, my good fellow, we can give you, if you wish, a bed in a corner here; and as for dinner,—why, we are going to have an anniversary feast to-day, and one guest more will make no difference. How does that suit you?"
"Perfectly," replied the stranger; "for, as I told you, I am almost fainting with fatigue and hunger."
"Very well; it's a bargain, then," said Arnauld; "you may remain here for a pistole."
"I will pay in advance," said the traveller.
Arnauld du Thill sat up to take the money, and at the same time raised his hat, which had concealed his eyes and his face.
The stranger was then able to see his features; and at the first glance he cried, recoiling in amazement,—
"My nephew, Arnauld du Thill!"
Arnauld looked carefully at him, and turned pale; but he soon collected himself.
"Your nephew?" said he. "Why, I don't know you! Who are you?"