The mayor came to meet him, and urged him to retrace his steps.

Cravatte was in possession of the mountains as far as Arche, and beyond; there was danger even with an escort; it merely exposed three or four unfortunate gendarmes to no purpose.
"Therefore," said the Bishop, "I intend to go without escort." "You do not really mean that, Monseigneur!" exclaimed the mayor.
"I do mean it so thoroughly that I absolutely refuse any gendarmes, and shall set out in an hour." "Set out ?" "Set out." "Alone ?" "Alone." "Monseigneur, you will not do that!" "There exists yonder in the mountains," said the Bishop, "a tiny community no bigger than that, which I have not seen for three years.
They are my good friends, those gentle and honest shepherds.

They own one goat out of every thirty that they tend.

They make very pretty woollen cords of various colors, and they play the mountain airs on little flutes with six holes.

They need to be told of the good God now and then.