During this colloquy, Pierre, awakened by Miraut’s loud barking, had risen and joined his master at the door.  As soon as he was informed of what had occurred, he lighted a lantern, and with the baron set forth, under the guidance of the droll old actor, to find and rescue the chariot in distress.  When they reached it Leander and Matamore were tugging vainly at the wheels, while his majesty, the king, pricked up the weary oxen with the point of his dagger.  The actresses, wrapped in their cloaks and seated in the rude chariot, were in despair, and much frightened as well—­wet and weary too, poor things.  This most welcome re-enforcement inspired all with fresh courage, and, guided by Pierre’s suggestions, they soon succeeded in getting the unwieldy vehicle out of the quagmire and into the road leading to the chateau, which was speedily reached, and the huge equipage safely piloted through the grand portico into the interior court.  The oxen were at once taken from before it and led into the stable, while the actresses followed de Sigognac up to the ancient banqueting hall, which was the most habitable room in the chateau.  Pierre brought some wood, and soon had a bright fire blazing cheerily in the great fireplace.  It was needed, although but the beginning of September and the weather still warm, to dry the dripping garments of the company; and besides, the air was so damp and chilly in this long disused apartment that the genial warmth and glow of the fire were welcome to all.

Although the strolling comedians were accustomed to find themselves in all sorts of odd, strange lodgings in the course of their wanderings, they now looked with astonishment at their extraordinary surroundings; being careful, however, like well-bred people, not to manifest too plainly the surprise they could not help feeling.

“I regret very much that I cannot offer you a supper,” said their young host, when all had assembled round the fire, “but my larder is so bare that a mouse could not find enough for a meal in it.  I live quite alone in this house with my faithful old Pierre; never visited by anybody; and you can plainly perceive, without my telling you, that plenty does not abound here.”

“Never mind that, noble seignior,” answered Blazius, the pedant, “for though on the stage we may sit down to mock repasts—­pasteboard fowls and wooden bottles—­we are careful to provide ourselves with more substantial and savoury viands in real life.  As quartermaster of the troupe I always have in reserve a Bayonne ham, a game pasty, or something, of that sort, with at least a dozen bottles of good old Bordeaux.”

“Bravo, sir pedant,” cried Leander, “do you go forthwith and fetch in the provisions; and if his lordship will permit, and deign to join us, we will have our little feast here.  The ladies will set the table for us meanwhile I am sure.”