of his companions every
unpleasant feeling relative to himself; and, for that purpose, still
struggled against a sense of pain, and tried to converse with gaiety.
Emily meanwhile was silent, except when Valancourt particularly
addressed her, and there was at those times a tremulous tone in his
voice that spoke much.

They were now so near the fire, which had long flamed at a distance on
the blackness of night, that it gleamed upon the road, and they could
distinguish figures moving about the blaze. The way winding still
nearer, they perceived in the valley one of those numerous bands of
gipsies, which at that period particularly haunted the wilds of the
Pyrenees, and lived partly by plundering the traveller. Emily looked
with some degree of terror on the savage countenances of these people,
shewn by the fire, which heightened the romantic effects of the scenery,
as it threw a red dusky gleam upon the rocks and on the foliage of the
trees, leaving heavy masses of shade and regions of obscurity, which the
eye feared to penetrate.

They were preparing their supper; a large pot stood by the fire, over
which several figures were busy. The blaze discovered a rude kind of
tent, round which many children and dogs were playing, and the whole
formed a picture highly grotesque. The travellers saw plainly their
danger. Valancourt was silent, but laid his hand on one of St. Aubert's
pistols; St. Aubert drew forth another, and Michael was ordered to
proceed as fast as possible. They passed the place, however,
without being attacked; the rovers being probably unprepared for the
opportunity, and too busy about their supper to feel much interest, at
the moment, in any thing besides.

After a league and a half more, passed in darkness, the travellers
arrived at Beaujeu, and drove up to the only inn the place afforded;
which, though superior to any they had seen since they entered the
mountains, was bad enough.

The surgeon of the town was immediately sent for, if a surgeon he could
be called, who prescribed for horses as well as for men, and shaved
faces at least as dexterously as he set bones. After examining
Valancourt's arm, and perceiving that the bullet had passed through
the flesh without touching the bone, he dressed it, and left him with
a solemn prescription of quiet, which his patient was not inclined to
obey. The delight of ease had now succeeded to pain; for ease may be
allowed to assume a positive quality when contraste