And yet, it seemed to me that this ugly Barbemouche was not one to give
up his chosen prey so soon.
Despite my intention, I feel asleep, and when I awoke it was daylight. I
sprang up and went cautiously down-stairs, sword in hand. But there was
no danger. Only the host and a servant were stirring in the inn. I made a
rapid breakfast, and went to see my horse fed. Before the shed, I saw the
young man who had made such drunken tumult in the kitchen the previous
night. He was just about to mount his horse; but there was now nothing of
the roysterer about his look or manner. He had restored neatness to his
attire, and his expression was sedate and humble, though strength and
sturdiness were as apparent in him as ever.
"A fine morning," I said, as the inn-servant brought out my own horse.
"Yes, monsieur," said the young man, in a very respectful tone. "A
sunrise like this is a gift from the good God."
"Yet you look pensive."
"It is because I know how little I deserve such mercy as to live on such
a day," answered the man, gravely; and he bowed politely, and rode
southward.
This devoutness and humility impressed me as being strangely out of
harmony with the profanity and turbulence of the night before, yet the
one seemed no less genuine than the other.
My horse fed, I mounted and rode after the sturdy youth.
Not far from Mirebeau, happening to turn my head towards the north, I
saw, in the distance, a group of horsemen approaching at a steady gallop.
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