"M. Lefèvre goes to Paris himself to-morrow; he usually stays away two or three days; we shall have returned in two or three days' time." Paillet felt in his pockets and drew out twenty-eight francs. "There, that is all I possess," he said. "And you?" "I? I have seven francs." "Twenty-eight and seven make thirty-five! How the deuce do you think we can go to Paris on that? We need thirty francs, to begin with, simply for a carriage to get there and back." "Wait a bit: I know a way...." "Well?" "You have your horse?" "Yes." "We will put our things into a portmanteau, we will go in our hunting-clothes, with our guns, and we will shoot along the route; we can live on the game, and so it will cost us nothing." "How do you make that out?" "It is simple enough: from here to Dammartin, surely we can kill a hare, two partridges and a quail?" "I hope we can kill more than that." "So do I, hard enough, but I am putting it at the lowest. When we reach Dammartin we can roast the hinder portion of our hare, we can jug the front half, and we can drink and eat." "And then?" "Then?... We will pay for our wine, our bread and our seasoning with the two partridges, and we will give the quail to the waiter as a tip.... There will only remain your horse to trouble about! Come, come, for three francs a day we shall see wonders." "But what the dickens will people take us for?" "What does that matter?--for scholars on a holiday." "But we only have one gun." "That will be all we shall need: one of us will shoot, the other will follow on horseback; in this way, as it is only sixteen leagues from here to Paris, it will only mean eight for each of us." "And the keepers?"