"You shall lose nothing by your trouble." "Oh! we're not," interrupted one of the peasants.

"We know you, Monsieur de Montrevel." "Yes," answered the other, "we know that, like your father, you're not in the habit of making people work for nothing.

Oh! if all the aristocrats had been like you, Monsieur Louis, there wouldn't have been any revolution." "Of course not," said the other, who seemed to have come solely to echo affirmatively what his companion said.
"It remains to be seen now where the animal is," said the first peasant.
"Yes," repeated the second, "remains to be seen where it is." "Oh! it won't be hard to find." "So much the better," interjected the peasant.
"Do you know the pavilion in the forest ?" "Which one ?" "Yes, which one ?" "The one that belongs to the Chartreuse of Seillon." The peasants looked at each other.
"Well, you'll find it some twenty feet distant from the front on the way to Genoud." The peasants looked at each other once more.
"Hum!" grunted the first one.
"Hum!" repeated the other, faithful echo of his companion.
"Well, what does this 'hum' mean ?" demanded Roland.
"Confound it." "Come, explain yourselves.

What's the matter ?" "The matter is that we'd rather that it was the other end of the forest." "But why the other end ?" retorted Roland, impatiently; "it's nine miles from here to the other end, and barely three from here to where we left the boar." "Yes," said the first peasant, "but just where the boar lies--" And he paused and scratched his head.
"Exactly; that's what," added the other.
"Just what ?" "It's a little too near the Chartreuse." "Not the Chartreuse; I said the pavilion." "It's all the same.

You know, Monsieur Louis, that there is an underground passage leading from the pavilion to the Chartreuse." "Oh, yes, there is one, that's sure," added the other.
"But," exclaimed Roland, "what has this underground passage got to do with our boar ?" "This much, that the beast's in a bad place, that's all." "Oh, yes! a bad place," repeated the other peasant.
"Come, now, explain yourselves, you rascals," said Roland, who was growing angry, while his mother seemed uneasy, and Amelie visibly turned pale.
"Beg pardon, Monsieur Louis," answered the peasant; "we are not rascals; we're God-fearing men, that's all." "By thunder," cried Roland, "I'm a God-fearing man myself.