mere question of speed." At this moment he saw a cab at the top of
the Faubourg Poissonniere. The dull driver, smoking his pipe, was
plodding along toward the limits of the Faubourg Saint-Denis, where
no doubt he ordinarily had his station. "Ho, friend!" said
Benedetto.
"What do you want, sir?" asked the driver.
"Is your horse tired?"
"Tired? oh, yes, tired enough — he has done nothing the whole of
this blessed day! Four wretched fares, and twenty sous over, making
in all seven francs, are all that I have earned, and I ought to
take ten to the owner."
"Will you add these twenty francs to the seven you have?"
"With pleasure, sir; twenty francs are not to be despised. Tell
me what I am to do for this."
"A very easy thing, if your horse isn't tired."
"I tell you he'll go like the wind, — only tell me which way to
drive."
"Towards the Louvres."
"Ah, I know the way — you get good sweetened rum over
there."
"Exactly so; I merely wish to overtake one of my friends, with
whom I am going to hunt to-morrow at Chapelle-en-Serval. He should
have waited for me here with a cabriolet till half-past eleven; it
is twelve, and, tired of waiting, he must have gone on."
"It is likely."
"Well, will you try and overtake him?"
"Nothing I should like better."
"If you do not overtake him before we reach Bourget you shall
have twenty francs; if not before Louvres, thirty."
"And if we do overtake him?"
"Forty," said Andrea, after a moment's hesitation, at the end of
which he remembered that he might safely promise. "That's all
right," said the man; "hop in, and we're off! Who-o-o-p, la!"
Andrea got into the cab, which passed rapidly through the
Faubourg Saint-Denis, along the Faubourg Saint-Martin, crossed the
barrier, and threaded its way through the interminable Villette.
They never overtook the chimerical friend, yet Andrea frequently
inquired of people on foot whom he passed and at the inns which
were not yet closed, for a green cabriolet and bay horse; and as
there are a great many cabriolets to be seen on the road to the Lowthere are a great many cabriolets to be seen on the road to the Low
Countries, and as nine-tenths of them are green, the inquiries
increased at every step. Every one had just seen it pass; it was
only five hundred, two hundred, one hundred steps in advance; at
length they reached it, but it was not the friend. Once the cab was
also passed by a calash rapidly whirled along by two post-horses.
"Ah," said Cavalcanti to himself, "if I only had that britzska,
those two good post-horses, and above all the passport that carries
them on!" And he sighed deeply. The calash contained Mademoiselle
Danglars and Mademoiselle d'Armilly. "Hurry, hurry!" said Andrea,
"we must overtake him soon." And the poor horse resumed the
desperate gallop it had kept up since leaving the barrier, and
arrived steaming at Louvres.
"Certainly," said Andrea, "I shall not overtake my friend, but I
shall kill your horse, therefore I had better stop. Here are thirty
francs; I will sleep at the Red Horse, and will secure a place in
the first coach. Good-night, friend." And Andrea, after placing six
pieces of five francs each in the man's hand, leaped lightly on to
the pathway. The cabman joyfully pocketed the sum, and turned back
on his road to Paris. Andrea pretended to go towards the Red Horse
inn, but after leaning an instant against the door, and hearing the
last sound of the cab, which was disappearing from view, he went on
his road, and with a lusty stride soon traversed the space of two
leagues. Then he rested; he must be near Chapelle-en-Serval, where
he pretended to be going. It was not fatigue that stayed Andrea
here; it was that he might form some resolution, adopt some plan.
It would be impossible to make use of a diligence, equally so to
engage post-horses; to travel either way a passport was necessary.
It was still more impossible to remain in the department of the
Oise, one of the most open and strictly guarded in France; this was
quite out of the question, especially to a man like Andrea,
perfectly conversant with criminal matters.perfectly conversant with criminal matters.
He sat down by the side of the moat, buried his face in his
hands and reflected. Ten minutes after he raised his head; his
resolution was made. He threw some dust over the topcoat, which he
had found time to unhook from the ante-chamber and button over his
ball costume, and going to Chapelle-en-Serval he knocked loudly at
the door of the only inn in the place. The host opened. "My
friend," said Andrea, "I was coming from Montefontaine to Senlis,
when my horse, which is a troublesome creature, stumbled and threw
me. I must reach Compiegne to-night, or I shall cause deep anxiety
to my family. Could you let me hire a horse of you?"
An inn-keeper has always a horse to let, whether it be good or
bad. The host called the stable-boy, and ordered him to saddle
"Whitey," then he awoke his son, a child of seven years, whom he
ordered to ride before the gentleman and bring back the horse.
Andrea gave the inn-keeper twenty francs, and in taking them from
his pocket dropped a visiting card. This belonged to one of his
friends at the Cafe de Paris, so that the innkeeper, picking it up
after Andrea had left, was convinced that he had let his horse to
the Count of Mauleon, 25 Rue Saint-Dominique, that being the name
and address on the card. "Whitey" was not a fast animal, but he
kept up an easy, steady pace; in three hours and a half Andrea had
traversed the nine leagues which separated him from Compiegne, and
four o'clock struck as he reached the place where the coaches stop.
There is an excellent tavern at Compiegne, well remembered by those
who have ever been there. Andrea, who had often stayed there in his
rides about Paris, recollected the Bell and Bottle inn; he turned
around, saw the sign by the light of a reflected lamp, and having
dismissed the child, giving him all the small coin he had about
him, he began knocking at the door, very reasonably concluding that
having now three or four hours before him he had best fortify