“Come! Come, friend Baptiste!” cried the driver with impatience; “What are you about? Are you asleep? Or will you refuse a night’s lodging to a gentleman, whose chaise has just broken down in the forest?”
“Ah! is it you, honest Claude?” replied a man’s voice from within; “Wait a moment, and the door shall be opened.”
Soon after the bolts were drawn back. The door was unclosed, and a man presented himself to us with a lamp in his hand. He gave the guide an hearty reception, and then addressed himself to me.
“Walk in, Monsieur; walk in, and welcome! Excuse me for not admitting you at first: but there are so many rogues about this place, that saving your presence, I suspected you to be one.”
Thus saying, he ushered me into the room, where I had observed the fire: I was immediately placed in an easy chair, which stood close to the hearth. A female, whom I supposed to be the wife of my host, rose from her seat upon my entrance, and received me with a slight and distant reverence. She made no answer to my compliment, but immediately reseating herself, continued the work on which she had been employed. Her husband’s manners were as friendly as hers were harsh and repulsive.
“I wish I could lodge you more conveniently, Monsieur,” said he; “but we cannot boast of much spare room in this hovel. However, a chamber for yourself, and another for your servant, I think, we can make shift to supply. You must content yourself with sorry fare; but to what we have, believe me, you are heartily welcome.”—Then turning to his wife—“Why, how you sit there, Marguerite, with as much tranquillity as if you had nothing better to do! Stir about, dame! Stir about! Get some supper; look out some sheets; here, here; throw some logs upon the fire, for the gentleman seems perished with cold.”
The wife threw her work hastily upon the table, and proceeded to execute his commands with every mark of unwillingness. Her countenance had displeased me on the first moment of my examining it. Yet upon the whole her features were handsome unquestionably; but her skin was sallow, and her person thin and meagre; a louring gloom overspread her countenance; and it bore such visible marks of rancour and ill-will, as could not escape being noticed by the most inattentive observer. Her every look and action expressed discontent and impatience, and the answers which she gave Baptiste, when he reproached her good-humouredly for her dissatisfied air, were tart, short, and cutting. In fine, I conceived at first sight equal disgust for her, and prepossession in favour of her husband, whose appearance was calculated to inspire esteem and confidence. His countenance was open, sincere, and friendly; his manners had all the peasant’s honesty unaccompanied by his rudeness; his cheeks were broad, full, and ruddy; and in the solidity of his person he seemed to offer an ample apology for the leanness of his wife’s. From the wrinkles on his brow I judged him to be turned of sixty; but he bore his years well, and seemed still hearty and strong: the wife could not be more than thirty, but in spirits and vivacity she was infinitely older than the husband.
However, in spite of her unwillingness, Marguerite began to prepare the supper, while the woodman conversed gaily on different subjects. The postillion, who had been furnished with a bottle of spirits, was now ready to set out for Strasbourg, and enquired, whether I had any further commands.
“For Strasbourg?” interrupted Baptiste; “You are not going thither tonight?”
“I beg your pardon: if I do not fetch workmen to mend the chaise, how is Monsieur to proceed tomorrow?”
“That is true, as you say; I had forgotten the chaise. Well, but Claude; you may at least eat your supper here? That can make you lose very little time, and Monsieur looks too kindhearted to send you out with an empty stomach on such a bitter cold night as this is.”
To this I readily assented, telling the postillion that my reaching Strasbourg the next day an hour or two later would be perfectly immaterial. He thanked me, and then leaving the cottage with Stephano, put up his horses in the woodman’s stable. Baptiste followed them to the door, and looked out with anxiety.
“ ’Tis a sharp biting wind!” said he; “I wonder, what detains my boys so long! Monsieur, I shall show you two of the finest lads that ever stepped in shoe of leather. The eldest is three and twenty, the second a year younger: their equals for sense, courage, and activity, are not to be found within fifty miles of Strasbourg. Would they were back again! I begin to feel uneasy about them.”
Marguerite was at this time employed in laying the cloth.
“And are you equally anxious for the return of your sons?” said I to her.
“Not I!” she replied peevishly; “They are no children of mine.”
“Come! Come, Marguerite!” said the husband; “Do not be out of humour with the gentleman for asking a simple question. Had you not looked so cross, he would never have thought you old enough to have a son of three and twenty: but you see how many years ill-temper adds to you!—Excuse my wife’s rudeness, Monsieur. A little thing puts her out, and she is somewhat displeased at your not thinking her to be under thirty. That is the truth, is it not, Marguerite? You know, Monsieur, that age is always a ticklish subject with a woman. Come! come! Marguerite, clear up a little. If you have not sons as old, you will some twenty years hence, and I hope, that we shall live to see them just such lads as Jacques and Robert.”
Marguerite clasped her hands together passionately.
“God forbid!” said she; “God forbid! If I thought it, I would strangle them with my own hands!”
She quitted the room
