John Paul Jones laughed good humoredly at this. “Well, O’Moore,” said he, “it’s fortunate that our host does not understand English; he’d not be at all flattered at your estimate of him, could he do so.” The food provided them was poor, coarse and ill served. The landlord hovered about while they ate and told them what a splendid place the inn was when his grandfather was its owner. “It’s sorry enough I am,” remarked Longsword as he looked with distaste at the piece of sour, black bread which he held in his hand, “that your grandfather is not here to see how you are ruining the reputation he worked so hard for. Sure this bread was made widout salt, and the grain must have been mixed wid sawdust and gravel.” Ethan had translated the landlord’s remarks for the Irishman’s benefit; the ferret-like Frenchman seemed to understand that Shamus was not pleased with the fare, and proceeded: “In the old days, monsieurs, the ‘Burgundian King’ was most magnificent! But that was when this road was used by the nobles in their grand chariots. For a slight service they would fling one a golden Louis as round as that,” drawing a circle in the palm of one hand with the forefinger of the other. “And the ‘King’ was in good repair and very much larger than it is now. At times, monsieurs, and I tell you no falsehood, we’ve had dukes and princes of the blood sleep under this roof.” The host waited for some expression of wonderment at this news; but as none came he ceased; and a short time later the three withdrew into a smaller room in which a good fire was burning. Through the open door Longsword could see the landlord and his people moving about their affairs; he fancied that he caught them whispering and casting sidelong looks now and then, and began to feel troubled for the safety of the horses. At last he could stand it no longer and arose to his feet. “I believe,” said he, “I’ll go out and give an eye to the cattle. Something tells me that they are not as safe as they might be.” “Oh, I wouldn’t trouble, Shamus, if I were you,” said Ethan. “They’ll do very well out there. You’re prejudiced against these poor people, that’s all.” “It’s not their poverty that prejudices me against them, then. It’s their looks and their ways. I’ve come across thieving rogues a-plenty in my time, sir, and these have the same look, so they have--and worse.” Captain Jones and Ethan sat for some time engaged in conversation relating to the struggle for independence; they had been at the inn for some hours and the night had fallen long since, black and complete. As they talked they caught the sound of hoofs approaching along the road toward the hostelry. “More guests,” said the captain, crossing his legs comfortably before the fire, and enjoying the pleasant warmth.