But
Liotir objected that he was meanwhile dying of hunger, and the monsieur
of thirst which only milk or cream could assuage; he suggested that some
one should be sent to look for the husband, and obtain his permission
for us to be fed. To this she assented, very dubiously, and with a
constrained air, as if there were some mysterious reason why the
presence of strangers was peculiarly unacceptable on that particular
afternoon. At any rate, she said when pressed, she thought there could
be no harm in our entering the chalet and sitting down on a bench, where
we should be sheltered from the sun.
Here accordingly we sat, more or less patiently, till the master himself
appeared. He had no welcome for us; but he was willing that we should
eat some of his black bread, and try his wine. Liotir begged for cheese,
and the wife was told she might supply cheese of two kinds, and also
cream, for the monsieur evidently was _malade_ and could not swallow
wine. The cream and the black bread were delicious; but still the
horrors of Die hung about me, and I could only dispose of such a small
amount, that Liotir waxed funny, and told me it would never do for me to
die there, as there was not earth enough to scrape a grave in on the
whole plain.
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