The stranger was not listening. He went into the kitchen, lighted his pipe and placed it in his mouth; then he walked slowly from the inn and resumed his seat on the stone bench, where he smoked as placidly as a Mussulman seated luxuriously on soft cushions.

"That's a devil of a fellow!" said the inn-keeper as he watched him walk away. "He smokes--I should say that he's an old soldier. What the devil did he want of the Granvals? He ended by saying that he despised them!--Never mind; I did well to sit down with him; if he comes back, I'll make him talk some more."

The stranger, having pa.s.sed the whole morning on the stone bench, did in fact return to the inn about two o'clock. He ordered bread and cheese once more, but drank only water. The inn-keeper hovered about him and asked him several questions, trying to enter into conversation; but the stranger seemed indisposed to talk. He ate his bread and cheese without answering the questions, paid for his meagre repast, filled his pipe, lighted it, and left the inn; but this time he went down the street instead of returning to the stone bench.

"He's a wretched customer!" said the inn-keeper when he had gone.

"And for all that," said the servant, "he puts on as many airs as a marquis! He gives his orders and talks as if he owned the place! He'd do well to shave, instead of stuffing himself with cheese!"

"Is he still sitting on the stone bench opposite, Marie?"

"No, monsieur, he went down the street."

"Then we probably shan't see him again."

"Good riddance!"

The inn-keeper was mistaken; about eight in the evening he saw the poorly dressed stranger reenter the common room, with his knotted stick.

"Hallo! here's the cheese-man again!" muttered the servant. But her master motioned to her to hold her peace, for he feared to offend the traveller. The latter seated himself at a table, and ordered bread, cheese and a small gla.s.s of eau-de-vie. He was served promptly and ate his bread and cheese without speaking; but when he asked how much he owed, the landlord, who was burning to question him, stepped forward and said, courteously removing his cap:

"Do you not intend to sleep here?"

"Sleep here!" echoed the stranger; "no, that isn't necessary; I can sleep quite as well in the fields, and it costs nothing; whereas, if I slept in your house, I should have to pay, should I not?"

"Why, that's the custom; you understand of course that we can't supply our----"

"Very good! very good! Have I asked you to give me anything for nothing?"

"No, monsieur, I didn't say that; but----"

"But keep your tongue still then, and let me rest in peace."

The inn-keeper angrily replaced his cap, and the stranger took his leave, after paying his bill.

"I begin to believe that this eater of cheese is nothing but a vagrant,"

said the host, when he was certain that the stranger was at a safe distance. "A man who sleeps in the fields--that's rather suspicious. I am sorry he didn't take a room here, because then he would have had to tell me his name."

"Oh! he's all right," said a little man who had entered the common room just as the traveller went out. "When he arrived in town he went at once to monsieur le maire, to show his papers."

"Ah! so you know that man, do you, Monsieur Benoit?" asked the inn-keeper, walking toward the newcomer.

Monsieur Benoit caressed his chin, shook his head to give himself importance, and replied:

"Yes, I have met him several times about the town; he has been here at least a week."

"What's his name?"

"I don't know that; but I think that he's a man who has been rich, who has squandered everything and has nothing left."

"And what does he do now?"

"Why, you have seen: he walks about, rests and smokes; but he talks very little."

"Oh! I have no questions to ask him; he has paid for everything he has had here; but he's very shabbily dressed.--I say, Monsieur Benoit, you must agree that that isn't the costume of a man who owns consols."

"I didn't say that he was rich now; I said that I believed that he had been rich, which is a very different matter."

They discussed the stranger for some time longer; but the arrival of new guests caused them to forget the man of meagre repasts.

The next morning, at daybreak, the stranger was stretched out on the stone bench once more, opposite the inn. He seemed less engrossed by his own thoughts and watched the travellers who arrived from time to time; more than once, indeed, he started up, as if he would accost one of them; but he soon fell back on the bench, and his features a.s.sumed an expression of distress.

About noon he entered the inn and ate as sparingly as on the previous day. Then he took his head in his hands, and remained at the table as if buried in thought. He had been a long while in that posture, even the host himself not daring to disturb him, when there was a great uproar in front of the inn. A post-chaise had arrived. Three young men and a servant alighted, and the servants of the inn, as well as the host, ran out to welcome Robineau and his two travelling companions; for they were the new arrivals.

"Ah! Bless my soul! but I am stiff!" said Robineau; "it's quite right to talk about travelling fast by post. How we did go, messieurs! The towns and villages fled behind us!"

"It would be more accurate to say that we fled before them."

"It's fine, it's great fun to travel fast.--Oh! my legs!--Take good care of my trunks and parcels, Francois!"

"Well, monsieur l'aubergiste, give us something good to eat--the best you have. I am as hungry as a hawk! What do you say, Edouard?"

"So am I. The air in this part of the country seems most invigorating."

"And you, Robineau--aren't you in appet.i.te?"

Robineau pulled Alfred's coat-tail and said in an undertone:

"Pray don't call me Robineau again, my friend; you know very well that it is no longer my name. I am Jules de la Roche-Noire."

"The devil! as if I could remember that! Well, Monsieur Jules Robineau de la Roche-Noire, do you not feel disposed to adjourn to the table?"

"I shall have no appet.i.te, my dear fellow, until I reach my chateau."

"This chateau of yours will end by making you ill, my poor boy."

The three young men having entered the common room, their loud conversation caused the stranger to raise his eyes, and he examined them without changing his position.

"Messieurs, messieurs, don't sit down here, for heaven's sake!" said Robineau, who had just discovered the stranger; "we can't stay in this room--people like us! Don't you see? Pretty company, isn't it?"

"Faith!" said Alfred, taking a seat, "when I travel, I am philosophical; and so long as the dinner is good----"

But Robineau shouted, called, made an uproar, and the host appeared, cap in hand.

"Give us a private room," said Robineau; "it seems to me, monsieur l'aubergiste, that you should be more careful and not put us with--with everybody."

"Your table is being laid on the first floor, messieurs; and if you will walk upstairs----"