"Be still!" said Arnauld. "Come, try to walk. Don't you mean to put up for the night at Auvray?" "Oh, yes, I want to put up for the night," said Martin, "but not at Auvray; down here on the grass, beneath God's lanterns." "Yes," retorted Arnauld; "and to-morrow morning some Spanish patrol will come along and discover you, and send you to take up your quarters with the Devil." "With Lucifer, the old rake?" said Martin. "No, I prefer to pull myself together a bit, and drag myself as far as Auvray. It's this way, isn't it? Well, I'm off." But it was absurd for him to talk about pulling himself together: for he described such marvellous zigzags that Arnauld saw clearly that without some help from him, Martin would speedily lose his way again,--that is to say, he would very likely be safe for the time; and that was just what the villain did not want. "Come," said he to poor, drunken Martin; "I have a kind heart, and Auvray is not so very far away. I will go there with you. Just let me unhitch my horse; then I can lead him by the bridle, and give you my arm." "_Ma foi_! I gladly accept," rejoined Martin; "I am not proud, and between ourselves I confess that I believe I am a little tipsy. I am still of the opinion that light wine of yours does not lack strength. I am very happy, but just a little tipsy." "Well, let's be off; it's getting late," said Arnauld du Thill, starting off on the road by which he had come, with his double leaning on his arm, and heading straight for the postern gate of Noyon. "But to beguile the time," he added, "are you not going to tell me another amusing story about Artigues?" "Shall I tell you the story of Papotte?" said Martin-Guerre. "Ah, poor Papotte!" The epic of Papotte was rather too incoherent for us to undertake to reproduce here. It was almost finished when these two Dromios of the sixteenth century arrived in rather indifferent trim before the Noyon gate. "There!" said Arnauld; "I have no need to go any farther. Do you see that gate h Well, that is the gate of Auvray. Knock there, and the watchman will open for you; you tell him that you are a friend of mine, and he will point out to you my house, only two steps from the gate. Go there, and my brother will welcome you and give you a good supper and a good bed. Now, comrade, let me shake your hand once more, and adieu!" "Adieu! and many thanks," said Martin. "I am only a poor devil, and in no condition to realize all that you have done for me. But never fear, the good Lord, who is a just God, will know how to requite you. Adieu, my friend." Strangely enough, these drunken predictions made Arnauld shudder, though superstition was not among his faults; and for a moment he thought of calling Martin back. But he was already knocking lustily at the postern. "Poor devil, he is knocking at the door of his tomb!" thought Arnauld; "but, bah! this is childishness."