The boys labored assiduously to
keep him company. Finally the stalwart fellow, Hugo, succumbed to the
effects of the wine, and staggered off to the shed. Pierre followed him a
few minutes later, and Blaise was left alone with the remains of the
wine. The landlord and his wife had retired to rest, on their pallets on
the kitchen floor, some time before. Blaise sat on a log, singing to
himself and cursing imaginary enemies, until all the wine at hand was
exhausted. Then he let me lead him into the kitchen, where he immediately
dropped to the floor, rolled over on his back, and began snoring with the
vigor that characterized all his vocal manifestations.
Making a pillow of my cloak, I lay down beside him, and tried to sleep;
but the stale air of the kitchen, the new thoughts to which my mind clung
with delight, the puzzling questions that sought to displace those
thoughts, and the tremendous snoring of both the landlord and his wife,
as well as of Blaise, made slumber impossible to me. I therefore rose,
and went out of the inn. At a short distance away was a smooth, grassy
knoll, now bathed in moonlight. I decided to make this my couch. I had
proceeded only a few steps from the inn when the silence of the early
night was disturbed by the sound of footsteps on the crisp, fallen leaves
in the woods close at hand.
The smallness of the village and the obscurity of the locality gave
importance to every sound, proceeding from a human source, at this hour.
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