There was nothing for it then, but to turn back again, and to make his way as best he could toward those inviting lights. In any case nothing could have been done in this pitch-dark night against the highway thieves, and St. Genis had no fear that M. le Comte d'Artois would fail to send him help for his expedition against them on the morrow. The lights on ahead were getting perceptibly nearer, soon they detached themselves still more clearly in the gloom--other lights appeared in the immediate neighbourhood--too few for a village--thought Maurice, and grouped closely together, suggesting a main building surrounded by other smaller ones close by. Soon the whole outline of the house could be traced through the enveloping darkness: two of the windows were lighted from within, and an oil lamp, flickering feebly, was fixed in a recess just above the door. The welcome words: "Chambres pour voyageurs. Aristide Briot, propriétaire," greeted Maurice's wearied eyes as he drew rein. Good luck was apparently attending him for, thus picking his way across fields, he had evidently struck an out-of-the-way hostelry on some bridle path off the main road, which was probably a short cut between Chambéry and Vienne. Be that as it may, he managed to dismount--stiff as he was--and having tried the door and found it fastened, he hammered against it with his boot. A few moments later, the bolts were drawn and an elderly man in blue blouse and wide trousers, his sabots stuffed with straw, came shuffling out of the door. "Who's there?" he called in a feeble, querulous voice. "A traveller--on horseback," replied Maurice. "Come, petit père," he added more impatiently, "will you take my horse or call to one of your men?" "It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me." "Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremptorily. "You surely are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?" "It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is quite full." "There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously pushed him into the house. The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes--the knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphiné--took a rapid survey of the belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light from within.