4. A Story of Brigands

“‘How should I know?’ he said. ‘It is the first time that we have ever talked together. Besides, be you what you will, noblemen or brigands, what difference can that make to a poor old man who has nothing?’

“‘You have your life,’ said the lieutenant. “‘My life,’ answered the peasant. ‘I am weary of this world. You can judge, then, how pleasant it is to live so long and so painfully.’

“‘We will leave you your life, you old talker, but we are going to take your hay.’

“‘The hay is not mine. When I tell you that I have nothing, that doesn’t mean that I have a mountain of hay like this to put in my pocket. If you will steal it, do so, but first bruise me a little. If I return without either injuries or hay, the master, who doesn’t joke, will think that I have sold it for drink. I might as well be pounded into a jelly by you as by him.’

“‘Queer old fellow!’ said the lieutenant, with difficulty restraining his laughter. ‘We only want enough of your hay to give our horses some breakfast.’

“‘Well and good!’ said the old man. ‘But let me help you myself, I will take it in such a way as to show the loss as little as possible. If it can be done without spoiling my load, I can perhaps escape punishment.

“‘Have you enough?’ he asked them, after having taken with care a dozen bundles of hay from his wagon. ‘Indeed, a little more and the loss will show. It will be seen and my skin will pay for it. Perhaps, as it is, if the master doesn’t count his bundles, it will pass.’

“‘The lieutenant gave a nod of his head as if to say, ‘That is enough,’—and the captain said to the peasant:

“‘You can go; but I have some advice to give you. First, don’t look backward to see what is going on behind you. Second, don’t tell anyone of this meeting.’

“‘I know how to keep a secret,’ answered the old peasant with an innocent air. ‘I will follow your advice,’ and he gave his oxen the signal to start.

“For about ten minutes, he could hear the gallop of the robbers’ horses. The noise gradually diminished, then could be heard no more.

“‘They have re-entered the forest,’ said the old man, as if speaking to himself; ‘but that isn’t a reason for singing victory yet.’

“The advice was good and was followed. The young woman, buried in the hay, did not move any more than if she had been buried in the ground. A half-hour later, the village, it was more than a village, it was a small city, could be seen. The wagon went the length of a long street as if nothing was the matter. Soon it entered through a large gate into a court.