"Show me a living traitor, and here are my hand and my weapon; but when life is out, hatred should not live longer .-- But here, I fancy, we come upon the village, where I hope to show you that neither ducking nor disgust have spoiled mine appetite for my breakfast.

So my good friend, to the hostelrie, with all the speed you may .-- Yet, ere I accept of your hospitality, let me know by what name to call you." "Men call me Maitre Pierre," answered his companion.

"I deal in no titles.

A plain man, that can live on mine own good--that is my designation." "So be it, Maitre Pierre," said Quentin, "and I am happy my good chance has thrown us together; for I want a word of seasonable advice, and can be thankful for it." While they spoke thus, the tower of the church and a tall wooden crucifix, rising above the trees, showed that they were at the entrance of the village.
But Maitre Pierre, deflecting a little from the road, which had now joined an open and public causeway, said to his companion that the inn to which he intended to introduce him stood somewhat secluded, and received only the better sort of travellers.
"If you mean those who travel with the better filled purses," answered the Scot, "I am none of the number, and will rather stand my chance of your flayers on the highway, than of your flayers in the hostelrie." "Pasques dieu!" said his guide, "how cautious your countrymen of Scotland are! An Englishman, now, throws himself headlong into a tavern, eats and drinks of the best, and never thinks of the reckoning till his belly is full.

But you forget, Master Quentin, since Quentin is your name, you forget I owe you a breakfast for the wetting which my mistake procured you .-- It is the penance of my offence towards you." "In truth," said the light hearted young man, "I had forgot wetting, offence, and penance, and all.