The landlord, recalled to prudence by the warning of his wife,
answered dryly: "Stephane is Stephane, pryers are pryers, and sheep
are put into the world to be sheared."

Thus repulsed, poor Gilbert paid five or six times its value for
his frugal repast, muttering as he departed: "I don't like this
Stephane; is it on his account that I've just been imposed upon?
Is it my fault that he carries matters with such a high hand?"

Gilbert descended the little hill, and retook the main road; it
pleased him no more, for he knew too well where it was leading him.
He inquired how much further it was to Geierfels, and was told that
by fast walking he would reach that place within an hour, whereupon
he slackened his pace. He was certainly in no haste to get there.

Gilbert was but a half a league from the castle when, upon his
right, a little out of his road, he perceived a pretty fountain
which partly veiled a natural grotto. A path led to it, and this
path had for Gilbert an irresistible attraction. He seated himself
upon the margin of the fountain, resting his feet upon a mossy
stone. This ought to be his last halt, for night was approaching.
Under the influence of the bubbling waters, Gilbert resumed his
dreamy soliloquy, but his meditations were presently interrupted by
the sound of a horse's feet which clattered over the path. Raising
his eyes, he saw coming towards him, mounted upon a large chestnut
horse, a young man of about sixteen, whose pale thin face was
relieved by an abundance of magnificent bright brown hair, which
fell in curls upon his shoulders. He was small but admirably
formed, and his features, although noble and regular, awakened in
Gilbert more of surprise than sympathy: their expression was hard,