h glee; and driving his elbow into the deep-meditating
and much-puzzled pupil of antiquity, whispered, "Le peu que sont les
hommes."

The next morning Gerard was eager to start, but Denys was under a vow to
see the murderers of the golden-haired girl executed.

Gerard respected his vow, but avoided his example.

He went to bid the cure farewell instead, and sought and received his
blessing. About noon the travellers got clear of the town. Just outside
the south gate they passed the gallows; it had eight tenants: the
skeleton of Manon's late wept, and now being fast forgotten, lover, and
the bodies of those who had so nearly taken our travellers' lives. A
hand was nailed to the beam. And hard by on a huge wheel was clawed the
dead landlord, with every bone in his body broken to pieces.

Gerard averted his head and hurried by. Denys lingered, and crowed over
his dead foes. "Times are changed, my lads, since we two sat shaking in
the cold awaiting you seven to come and cut our throats."

"Fie, Denys! Death squares all reckonings. Prithee pass on without
another word, if you prize my respect a groat."

To this earnest remonstrance Denys yielded. He even said thoughtfully,
"You have been better brought up than I."

About three in the afternoon they reached a little town with the people
buzzing in knots. The wolves, starved by the cold, had entered, and
eaten two grown-up persons overnight, in the main street: so some were
blaming the eaten--"None but fools or knaves are about after nightfall;"
others the law for not protecting the town, and others the corporation
for not enforcing what laws there were.

"Bah! this is nothing to us," said Denys, and was for resuming their
march.

"Ay, but 'tis," remonstrated Gerard.

"What, are we the pair they ate?"

"No, but we may be the next pair."

"Ay, neighbour," said an ancient man, "'tis the town's fault for not
obeying the ducal ordinance, which bids every shopkeeper light a lamp
o'er his door at sunset, and burn it till sunrise."

On this Denys asked him somewhat derisively, "What made him fancy rush
dips would scare away empty wolves? Why, mutton fat is all their joy."

"'Tis not the fat, vain man, but the light. All ill things hate light;
especially wolves and the imps that lurk, I ween, under their fur.
Example; Paris city stands in a wood like, and the wolves do howl around
it all night: yet of late years wolves come but little in the streets.
For why, in that