still feeling the effects of my
recent illness, I resolved to stay for the night at Aviers, a village
about thirty miles from Aunay. The inn was dirty, the accommodation
meagre, and the landlord a surly boor, who behaved as if we had done
him a grievous injury by stopping at his house. After providing a feed
for the horses, his resources appeared to be exhausted, and, but for
Pillot, I should doubtless have gone to bed without supper. He,
however, had a keen appetite, and meant to satisfy it.

"Stay here, monsieur," said he, cheerfully; "if there is anything
eatable in the place we will soon have it on the table. _Peste!_
things are coming to a fine pass when a gentleman cannot be served with
food at an inn!"

He skipped away, and I heard him storming at our host in a high-pitched
voice, threatening all manner of penalties unless supper was
immediately forthcoming. Precisely what arguments he used I cannot
say, but presently he returned in triumph with the surly innkeeper,
carrying bread, butter, cheese, poached eggs, and a bottle of wine.

"There is a fowl cooking on the spit," said he, "but I thought that,
meanwhile, monsieur would not object to begin with this."

He was right, I made no objections whatever, and, having finished the
first course, was equally ready to proceed with the second. The fowl
was done to a turn, and when at length the innkeeper came to clear
away, he looked aghast at the wreck of his provisions.

"An excellent supper, Pillot!" I exclaimed contentedly. "I have no
doubt that my cousin finds your services valuable."

"We all have our gifts," he replied laughing, "and the wise folk are
those who know how to make use of them. But a word in your ear,
monsieur. To-night it will be as well to sleep lightly. These
villagers are hangdog looking fellows, and if they fancy we are worth
plundering, why----" and he finished with a most comical shrug of the
shoulders.

"It is a queer world, Pillot," I remarked. "Here at Aviers you do your
best to keep me from harm; in Paris most likely you will be doing all
in your power to kill me."

"Only in the way of business, monsieur, and for the good of the Cause!"

"What do you call the Cause?"

"The filling of my pocket, monsieur."

He was a thorough rascal, but not a hypocrite, and so far was a better
man than those he served. He marched to battle under the banner of
Pillot, and gathered in the spoils openly. He had a stout heart, too,
an