They travelled steadily day by day, sleeping at night in such country inns as lay in their road. These were not very grand places, but the Princess cared for no discomfort, thinking only how she might get forward on her way. The old man rode a few paces behind, sometimes carrying Giroflé. The little dog was light, but what he lacked in weight he made up in noise, for he barked ceaselessly, and nothing but threats of making him walk could keep his tongue still. At last, one evening, as it grew late, they came to the borders of a forest which stretched, like a dark sea, across the horizon. A red streak from the departed sun glared angrily over the tree-tops, and they hurried on towards a miserable little house where they hoped to get a lodging. When they reached it, they found it to be an inn, but so mean and tumble-down was it that its walls seemed hardly able to hold together. A rough-looking man was leaning out of an upper window. “Can we lodge here?” asked the Princess as she stopped before the door. “There are only myself, my servant, and my little dog.” The man nodded, and came to take Amulet and the mule to the stable. She dismounted and went in, carrying Giroflé under her arm. “Heavens! what a place!” he exclaimed, as he peeped from under her cloak. “Surely we are never going to spend the night here!” “The forest is in front,” said she, “and we cannot find our way through it at this time of night. We have no choice but to stay where we are and be thankful that we have a roof over our heads. Listen! do you hear the wind? There will be a storm before morning.” As she spoke a kind of moan ran through the air and the trees began to toss to and fro. A great splash of rain fell against the window. Giroflé said no more, but when food was brought and the Princess sat down to sup, he remained in a corner of the room, his face to the wall, and an expression on it impossible to describe. “Come here, Giroflé, and have some food,” said the Princess, as she sat at the table. “I am glad you call it food,” said he; “for my part, I should have called it garbage.” The landlord, who was serving, looked at him angrily. “I suppose you have never seen a spaniel of good family before, fellow?” snapped Giroflé, as he met his eye. “Giroflé, behave yourself!” cried the Princess. The landlord left the room, muttering. So there Giroflé sat till his mistress had retired to bed; then he came out and went to warm himself by the hearth, for, the corner being cold, his exclusive demeanour had chilled him. Soon the landlord returned to take away the dishes. “Oh, you are there, are you, little viper?” said he. At this Giroflé turned upon him with such a torrent of impertinence as the man had never heard before. He had sharpened his tongue for years upon every member of the royal household, including the King himself, and the landlord, who soon found he was no match for him, grew almost frantic.