“My dear Guillaume,” said he, “don’t put yourself out; perhaps this good man is forbidden to speak, and has come like M. Goguelot, for the treasure.” “Do you know M. Goguelot, and why we are here?” “You are here for the treasure which the hussars are bringing from Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, to hand over to the dragoons who were awaiting them at St. Menehould.” “If you are one of us, monsieur,” said the groom, touching his hat, “I have no reason to refuse telling you to whom the horses belong. They are the property of the Duke of Choiseul.” “You have said well,” said Drouet, laughing; “and we were going to quarrel with one of our friends.” “If you are a friend, monsieur, you might tell me whom you are, as I have told you about the horses?” “You are right. I have no motive for concealing my name. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at St. Menehould.” “As you have said, you are _probably_ one of us.” At this moment, Father Gautier stepped out from the kitchen door. M. Drouet thought he had better say no more to the groom, for fear of exciting suspicion. “Ah, ha! Father Gautier,” said he; “your kitchen appears to be in full blow.” The fires in fact, were at their highest. “It is so, M. Drouet; but the astonishing part of it is, that I do not know for whom the cooking is going on.” “You don’t know for whom?” “No. I received on the 14th, an order from the military commandant to prepare a dinner for five o’clock, and it is now the 24th, and no one has arrived to eat it; but as it is a written command, I am not afraid, for eaten or not, the dinners are always paid for.” M. Drouet again looked at us. “Perhaps they are some great lords about to emigrate,” said M. Jean Baptiste. “And who take away our money,” replied Father Gautier. “In any case, they will leave you a little of theirs. Six or eight dinners, at how much a head?” “Three crowns, not including the wine.” “And for how many people?” “Eight or ten; the number was not definitely arranged.” “Father Gautier,” said M. Drouet, “you will yet die rich.” He then shook hands with him, smiling. We left the house, and soon found ourselves in the street. “My friend,” said M. Drouet, “without doubt, something extraordinary is about to take place. I shall return to Saint Menehould without losing a moment. Guillaume will go with me. When you get home, watch day and night. Sleep with one eye open, and hold yourselves in readiness for whatever may happen.” We returned quickly to the “Bras d’Or;” M. Drouet saddled his horse with his own hands. M. Guillaume borrowed one of the elder of the Leblancs, and they both set off for St. Menehould at a sharp trot, recommending us both to keep our eyes and ears well open. CHAPTER XXIV. THE NIGHT OF THE 21ST OF AUGUST, 1791. One can easily understand that it was late when we sought our respective couches, and that we rose early the next morning, having kept one eye open all the time that we slept.