The blacksmith’s forge was in a shed beside the house, and fronting the road. I heard the hammers stop plying their continual rhythmical beat. She had seen why they ceased. A rider had come up to the forge and dismounted, leading his horse in to be re-shod. The broad red light of the forge-fire had revealed the face of the rider to Amante, and she apprehended the consequence that really ensued.
The rider, after some words with the blacksmith, was ushered in by him into the house-place where we sat.
“Here, good wife, a cup of wine and some galette for this gentleman.”
“Anything, anything, madame, that I can eat and drink in my hand while my horse is being shod. I am in haste, and must get on to Forbach to-night.”
The blacksmith’s wife lighted her lamp; Amante had asked her for it five m
