"Well, Peter, since there's no harm come of it, there's no harm done.
I've had sleep enough for the next week, that's certain."
We returned to the wood; the snow had disappeared, and the rain ceased;
the sun shone out from between the clouds, and we felt warm.
"Don't pass so near that way," said O'Brien, "we shall see the poor
creatures, now that the snow is gone. Peter, we must shift our quarters
to-night, for I have been to every cabaret in the village, and I cannot
go there any more without suspicion, although I am a gendarme."
We remained there till the evening, and then set off, still returning
towards Givet. About an hour before daylight we arrived at a copse of
trees, close to the road-side, and surrounded by a ditch, not above a
quarter of a mile from a village. "It appears to me," said O'Brien,
"that this will do: I will now put you there, and then go boldly to the
village and see what I can get, for here we must stay at least a week."
We walked to the copse, and the ditch being rather too wide for me to
leap, O'Brien laid the four stilts together so as to form a bridge, over
which I contrived to walk. Tossing to me all the bundles, and desiring
me to leave the stilts as a bridge for him on his return, he set off to
the village with his musket on his shoulder. He was away two hours, when
he returned with a large supply of provisions, the best we had ever had.
French saucissons, seasoned with garlic, which I thought delightful;
four bottles of brandy, besides his flask; a piece of hung beef and six
loaves of bread, besides half a baked goose and part of a large pie.
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