Under the possibility of immediate1 departure, Morgan’s horse, after being washed, rubbed down and dried, had been fed a double ration2 of oats and been resaddled and bridled3. The young man had only to ask for it and spring upon its back. He was no sooner in the saddle than the gate opened as if by magic; the horse neighed and darted5 out swiftly, having forgotten its first trip, and ready for another.
At the gate of the Chartreuse, Morgan paused an instant, undecided whether to turn to the right or left. He finally turned to the right, followed the road which leads from Bourg to Seillon for a few moments, wheeled rapidly a second time to the right, cut across country, plunged6 into an angle of the forest which was on his way, reappeared before long on the other side, reached the main road to Pont-d’Ain, followed it for about a mile and a half, and halted near a group of houses now called the Maison des Gardes. One of these houses bore for sign a cluster of holly7, which indicated one of those wayside halting places where the pedestrians8 quench9 their thirst, and rest for an instant to recover strength before continuing the long fatiguing10 voyage of life. Morgan stopped at the door, drew a pistol from its holster and rapped with the butt11 end as he had done at the Chartreuse. Only as, in all probability, the good folks at the humble12 tavern13 were far from being conspirators14, the traveller was kept waiting longer than he had been at the monastery15. At last he heard the echo of the stable boy’s clumsy sabots. The gate creaked, but the worthy16 man who opened it no sooner perceived the horseman with his drawn17 pistol than he instinctively18 tried to, close it again.
“It is I, Patout,” said the young man; “don’t be afraid.”
“Ah! sure enough,” said the peasant, “it is really you, Monsieur Charles. I’m not afraid now; but you know, as the curé used to tell us, in the days when there was a good God, ‘Caution is the mother of safety.’”
“Yes, Patout, yes,” said the young man, slipping a piece of silver into the stable boy’s hand, “but be easy; the good God will return, and M. le Curé also.”
“Oh, as for that,” said the good man, “it is easy to see that there is no one left on high by the way things go. Will this last much longer, M. Charles?”
“Patout, I promise, in my honor, to do my best to be rid of all that annoys you. I am no less impatient than you; so I’ll ask you not to go to bed, my good Patout.”
“Ah! You know well, monsieur, that when you come I don’t often go to bed. As for the horse—Goodness! You change them every day? The time before last it was a chestnut19, the last time a dapple-gray, now a black one.”
“Yes, I’m somewhat capricious by nature. As to the horse, as you say, my dear Patout, he wants nothing. You need only remove his bridle4; leave him saddled. Oh, wait; put this pistol back in the holsters and take care of these other two for me.” And the young man removed the two from his belt and handed them to the hostler.
“Well,” exclaimed the latter, laughing, “any more barkers?”
“You know, Patout, they say the roads are unsafe.”
“Ah! I should think they weren’t safe! We’re up to our necks in regular highway robberies, M. Charles. Why, no later than last week they stopped and robbed the diligence between Geneva and Bourg!”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Morgan; “and whom do they accuse of the robbery?”
“Oh, it’s such a farce20! Just fancy; they say it was the Companions of Jesus. I don’t believe a word of it, of course. Who are the Companions of Jesus if not the twelve apostles?”
“Of course,” said Morgan, with his eternally joyous21 smile, “I don’t know of any others.”
“Well!” continued Patout, “to accuse the twelve apostles of robbing a diligence, that’s the limit. Oh! I tell you, M. Charles, we’re living in times when nobody respects anything.”
And shaking his head like a misanthrope22, disgusted, if not with life, at least with men, Patout led the horse to the stable.
As for Morgan, he watched Patout till he saw him disappear down the courtyar............