was nettled, and dashed his hand
somewhat ostentatiously into his purse and pulled out a gold angel.
"Count me the change, and speedily," said he. "You tavern-keepers are
more likely to rob me than I you."

While the supper was preparing, Denys disappeared, and was eventually
found by Gerard in the yard, helping Manon, his plump but not bright
decoy duck, to draw water, and pouring extravagant compliments into her
dullish ear. Gerard grunted and returned to table, but Denys did not
come in for a good quarter of an hour.

"Uphill work at the end of a march," said he, shrugging his shoulders.

"What matters that to you!" said Gerard drily. "The mad dog bites all
the world."

"Exaggerator. You know I bite but the fairer half. Well, here comes
supper; that is better worth biting."

During supper the girl kept constantly coming in and out, and looking
point-blank at them, especially at Denys; and at last in leaning over
him to remove a dish, dropped a word in his ear; and he replied with a
nod.

As soon as supper was cleared away, Denys rose and strolled to the door,
telling Gerard the sullen fair had relented, and given him a little
rendezvous in the stable-yard.

Gerard suggested that the calf-pen would have been a more appropriate
locality. "I shall go to bed, then," said he, a little crossly. "Where
is the landlord? out at this time of night? no matter. I know our room.
Shall you be long, pray?"

"Not I. I grudge leaving the fire and thee. But what can I do? There are
two sorts of invitations a Burgundian never declines."

Denys found a figure seated by the well. It was Manon; but instead
of receiving him as he thought he had a right to expect, coming by
invitation, all she did was to sob. He asked her what ailed her? She
sobbed. Could he do anything for her? She sobbed.

The good-natured Denys, driven to his wits' end, which was no great
distance, proffered the custom of the country by way of consolation. She
repulsed him roughly. "Is it a time for fooling?" said she, and sobbed.

"You seem to think so," said Denys, waxing wroth. But the next moment he
added tenderly, "and I, who could never bear to see beauty in distress."

"It is not for myself."

"Who then? your sweetheart?"

"Oh, que nenni. My sweetheart is not on earth now: and to think I have
not an ecu to buy masses for his soul;" and in this shallow nature the
grief seemed now to be all turned in another direction.

"Come, come," said Denys, "