"They'll have to go back to Ausone for aid," said Warner.
"Do you still mean to put me up at Saïs?"
"Certainly. You don't expect your friends back there to assault the inn, do you?"
"No," said Halkett, laughing. "They don't do things that way just yet."
Warner snapped his whip, caught the curling lash, let it free, twirled it, and, snapped it again, whistling cheerfully a gay air from his student days—a tune he had not thought of before in years.
"I believe," he said, frankly hopeful, "that you and I are going to have another little party with those fellows before this matter is ended."
"I'm sure of it," said Halkett quietly.
A few moments later Warner, still whistling his joyous air, pointed toward a cluster of tiny lights far ahead in the dark valley.
"Saïs," he said; and resumed his song blithely:
"Gai, gai, mariez-vous!
C'est un usage
Fort sage.
Gai, gai, mariez-vous,
Le mariage est si doux!—"