n't be frightened, good man," said Jean Rene, shutting the door
securely; "but I never before saw our dogs in such a perfect fury--it
must be the cold makes them so spiteful; perhaps, being half frozen,
they fancied biting you would serve to warm them--there is no knowing
what mere animals may mean by what they do."

"Why, are you going to begin, too?" exclaimed the old farmer, as
Lysander, who had hitherto lain perfectly happy in the radiance of the
glowing fire, started up, and, growling fiercely, was about to fly at
the strangers. "This old dog is quiet enough, but, having heard the
other dogs make such a furious noise, he thinks he must do the same.
Will you lie down and be quiet, you old brute? Do you hear, sir? lie
down!"

At these words from Father Chatelain, accompanied by a significant
motion of the foot, Lysander, with a low, deep growl of dissatisfaction,
slowly returned to his favourite corner by the hearth, while the
Schoolmaster and Tortillard remained trembling by the kitchen-door, as
though fearful of approaching farther. The features of the ruffian were
so hideous, from the frightful effects produced by the cold, that some
of the servants in the kitchen shuddered with alarm, while others
recoiled in disgust; this impression was not lost on Tortillard, who
felt reassured by the terrors of the villagers, and even felt proud of
the repulsiveness of his companion. This first confusion over, Father
Chatelain, thinking only of worthily discharging the duties of
hospitality, said to the Schoolmaster:

"Come, my good friend--come near the fire and warm yourself thoroughly,
and then you shall have some supper with us; for you happened to come
very fortunately, just as we were sitting down to table. Here, sit down,
just where I have placed your chair. But what am I thinking about?"
added the worthy old labourer. "I ought to have spoken to your son, not
you, seeing that it has pleased God to take away your eyesight--a heavy
loss, a heavy loss; but let us hope all for your good, my friend, though
you may not now think so. Here, my boy, lead your father to that snug
place in the chimney-corner."

"Yes, kind sir," drawled out Tortillard, with a nasal twang and canting,
hypocritical tone; "may God bless you for your charity to the poor
blind! Here, father, take my arm; lean on my shoulder, father; take
care, take care, gently;" and, with affected zeal and tenderness, the
urchin guided the steps of the brigand till