But Marie had left the porch where she had at first cowered. The snow had ceased to fall. The moon shone in the sky, the cold was becoming more and more intense. Jacques felt it keenly, for he had just swallowed two glasses of brandy, and for a few moments he seemed bewildered, walking directly before him across the lawn, instead of following the walk which led to the gate. Bridou saw the distraction of his friend and said to him: "Jacques, Jacques, where in the devil are you going?" "Sure enough," responded the Hercules, stopping short and balancing himself on his legs. "Sure enough, old fellow," said he. "I do not know what is the matter with me; I am besotted this morning. I go to the right when I mean to go to the left. It is the cold which pinches me so when I come out of the house." "It is enough to pinch one!" replied Bridou, shivering. "I have a hood and a comforter, and I am frozen." "You chilly fellow, go on!" "That is very easy for you to say." "Come, Bridou, do you want my skin?" "What! your skin?" "My goatskin, you idiot!" "And what will you do, Jacques?" "Take it; when I get into the carriage the heat will fly to my head, and I shall sleep in spite of myself." "Then, Jacques, I accept your skin all the more cheerfully, my old fellow, for if you fall asleep you will turn us over." "Here, put it on," said Jacques, taking off his goatskin, in which his companion soon wrapped himself. "Come, now," said Bastien, passing his hand over his forehead, "I feel more like myself; I am better." And Jacques, with a less unsteady step, reached the gate that André had just opened from the outside, as he led the old white horse, hitched to the carriage, to a convenient spot for his master. Bastien jumped into the carriage first; Bridou, embarrassed by the goatskin, stumbled on the foot-board. "Take care, master, take care," said old André, deceived by the goatskin, and thinking he was addressing M. Bastien. "Pay attention, master!" "Jacques, this must be a regular lion's skin," whispered the bailiff. "Your servant takes me for you, old fellow, because I have on your cloak." Bastien, whose mind continued to be somewhat confused, took the reins and said to André, who stood at the horse's head: "Is the old road to Blémur good?" "The old road? Why, nobody can pass, monsieur." "Why?" "Because the overflow has washed up everything, monsieur, without counting the embankment on the side of the pond which has been swept away,--so from that place the road is still covered ten feet in water." "That is a pity, for that would have shortened our way wonderfully," replied Bastien, whipping the horse so vigorously that it started off at a full gallop. "Softly, Jacques, softly," said the bailiff, beginning to feel concerned about his comrade's condition. "The roads are not good and you must not upset us. Come, come now, Jacques, do pay attention! Ah, you do not look an inch before you!" * * * * *