“Yes, Patout, yes,” said the young man, slipping a piece of silver into the stable boy’s hand, “but be easy; the good God will return, and M. le Curé also.” “Oh, as for that,” said the good man, “it is easy to see that there is no one left on high by the way things go. Will this last much longer, M. Charles?” “Patout, I promise, in my honor, to do my best to be rid of all that annoys you. I am no less impatient than you; so I’ll ask you not to go to bed, my good Patout.” “Ah! You know well, monsieur, that when you come I don’t often go to bed. As for the horse--Goodness! You change them every day? The time before last it was a chestnut, the last time a dapple-gray, now a black one.” “Yes, I’m somewhat capricious by nature. As to the horse, as you say, my dear Patout, he wants nothing. You need only remove his bridle; leave him saddled. Oh, wait; put this pistol back in the holsters and take care of these other two for me.” And the young man removed the two from his belt and handed them to the hostler. “Well,” exclaimed the latter, laughing, “any more barkers?” “You know, Patout, they say the roads are unsafe.” “Ah! I should think they weren’t safe! We’re up to our necks in regular highway robberies, M. Charles. Why, no later than last week they stopped and robbed the diligence between Geneva and Bourg!” “Indeed!” exclaimed Morgan; “and whom do they accuse of the robbery?” “Oh, it’s such a farce! Just fancy; they say it was the Companions of Jesus. I don’t believe a word of it, of course. Who are the Companions of Jesus if not the twelve apostles?” “Of course,” said Morgan, with his eternally joyous smile, “I don’t know of any others.” “Well!” continued Patout, “to accuse the twelve apostles of robbing a diligence, that’s the limit. Oh! I tell you, M. Charles, we’re living in times when nobody respects anything.” And shaking his head like a misanthrope, disgusted, if not with life, at least with men, Patout led the horse to the stable. As for Morgan, he watched Patout till he saw him disappear down the courtyard and enter the dark stable; then, skirting the hedge which bordered the garden, he went toward a large clump of trees whose lofty tops were silhouetted against the darkness of the night, with the majesty of things immovable, the while their shadows fell upon a charming little country house known in the neighborhood as the Château des Noires-Fontaines. As Morgan reached the château wall, the hour chimed from the belfry of the village of Montagnac. The young man counted the strokes vibrating in the calm silent atmosphere of the autumn night. It was eleven o’clock. Many things, as we have seen, had happened during the last two hours.