Such a feeling--to which, in this instance, the murmur of the stream and the steady downpour of rain doubtless added something --is so contagious that I was not surprised to find Colet and La Font sinking under it. Only Parabere, in fact, rose quite superior to the notion, laughed at their fears, and drank to their better spirits; and, making the best of the situation, as became an old soldier, presently engaged me in tales of the war-- fought again the siege of Laon, and buried men whose bodies bad lain for ten years under the oaks at Fontaine Francoise.
Talk of this kind, which we still maintained after we had despatched our supper, was sufficiently engrossing to erase Boisrueil's fancies entirely from my mind. They were recalled by his sudden entrance, with Colet at his elbow, the faces of both full of importance. I saw that they had something to say, and asked what it was.
"We have been examining the back gate, M. le Marquis," Colet said.
"It is barricaded, and cannot be opened," he answered.
"Well," I said again, "there is nothing wonderful in that. Anyone can see that there has been rough work here. The front gate was stormed, I suppose, and the back one left standing."
"But if is so barricaded that it is not possible to open it," he objected. "And the men have an idea--"
"Well?" I said, seeing that he hesitated.
"That this is a one-eyed house."
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