at once."

The girl of the house was standing before the table with a pewter pot
which she had just brought, and at these words she raised her eyes on
the prisoner, with a reassured look which seemed to say, "I was sure
that he was innocent."

"But," continued the marquis, carrying the glass to his lips, "this wine
is not so bad as you say, monsieur provost."

Then turning to the girl, who was eyeing his gloves and his ruff--

"To your health, pretty child."

"Then," said the provost, amazed at this free and easy air, "perhaps I
shall have to beg you to excuse your sleeping quarters."

"What!" exclaimed the marquis, "do we sleep here?"

"My lord;" said the provost, "we have sixteen long leagues to make, our
horses are done up, and so far as I am concerned I declare that I am no
better than my horse."

The marquis knocked on the table, and gave every indication of being
greatly annoyed. The provost meanwhile puffed and blowed, stretched out
his big boots, and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was
a portly man, with a puffy face, whom fatigue rendered singularly
uncomfortable.

"Marquis," said he, "although your company, which affords me the