"Ah, well, we will go thither."

When we drove into the inn-yard, however, we could hear unruly voices in
the house, and feared we might fall into bad company. A man immediately
came up to us, and said to me, in a low voice:

"Are you M. Jacques Bonneval?"

"I am. Are you Antoine Leroux?"

"Hist!--yes. There are ill-disposed people in the inn; you had better
not go in-doors. Can you walk a little way?"

"Yes."

"Come with me, then."

"I must bid my companion farewell." Turning to La Croissette, I took his
hand in both mine, and pressed it fervently, saying:

"My dear La Croissette, adieu. May God bless you in this world and the
next. I wish I could make some return for your exceeding kindness, but,
unfortunately, can give you nothing but my prayers."

"Pray say nothing of it," said he, cordially. "Your prayers are the very
thing I should like to have, for, unfortunately, I am not good at them
myself. As I pass a Calvary by the roadside I pull off my hat, in token
of respect, you know, for what it represents; and had I had a bringing
up like yours I might have had as pretty a turn for psalmody; but as the