Four days more passed before Edward actually got his proper passes and safe-conduct; but then they came in the most precise style and ample form. His whole person was described with accuracy. He was mentioned as a young English gentleman attached to Lord Montagu, travelling under the particular protection of his Majesty the King of France, with two palfreniers and other servants and attendants; and all governors of towns and provinces, and officers civil and military, as well throughout the realm of France as in neighboring countries in amity with that power, were directed not only to let him freely pass and give him aid and assistance, but to show him every hospitable attention and courtesy on his journey or journeys in any direction whatsoever during the next two years ensuing. The whole was signed by the king's own hand and countersigned by the cardinal. Though I possess one of these passports myself on parchment, signed with an immense "Louis," I regret to say it does not have the countersignature of Richelieu; but it is certain that they were occasionally given under his administration also. At all events, Edward comprehended that, wherever he bent his steps, no more interruptions of his journey would occur on the part of any of the officers of the crown.

The cardinal himself he could not see before his departure, for those were very busy times; but on the sixth day the young gentleman re-entered the city of Rochelle with his good friend Clement Tournon, and went direct to the syndic's house. The royal soldiers were in possession of the place; the walls were in progress of demolition; and there was an aspect of disappointment and sadness upon the faces of the people generally, though some were rejoicing openly in the return of peace and plenty, little heeding the loss of a certain degree of that liberty which they had at one time cherished as the best of human possessions.

The royal forces, however, had not confined themselves to razing the fortifications, but, with that good-humor which is one of the chief and most amiable characteristics of the French people, had aided the citizens in burying the dead, in cleansing the streets, and in purifying the town generally, so that, on the whole, the city bore a much more cheerful and happy appearance than it had done when Edward had last visited it. In the court before the house of the old syndic, two of the apprentices were busy rooting out the grass from between the stones; and Marton herself, with a gay face, though it was still somewhat pale and thin, came running down to greet her old master. These were all that remained of the once numerous household; and the joy of his return to his ancient dwelling was mingled with sufficient bitterness to draw some natural tears from Clement Tournon's eyes.

Many little incidents occurred to Edward Langdale during his short stay in Rochelle which we need not dwell upon here. Amongst the servants of his host he was in some sort a hero for the part he had taken in saving their beloved master. Several of the citizens, too, came to visit him; and, in the stormy night of the 2d of November, Guiton himself, wrapped in his large mantle, presented himself to pass an hour or two with his old friend and the syndic's young guest.

It was a night very memorable,—much like that on which Edward had crossed the seas some eighteen months before. The winds burst in sharp gusts over the town, still rising in force, and howling as they rose; the casement shook and rattled, the tiles were swept from the roofs and dashed to pieces in the streets, and rain mingled with sleet dashed in the faces of the passers-by. Many died that night of those who were still sick in the hospitals. The conversation of the mayor was by no means cheerful. He had been forced into his high position against his own desire; he had drawn the sword unwillingly, but, full of energy and hope, he had sheathed it with even less willingness, and saw in the surrender of Rochelle the ruin of the Protestant cause and the destruction of the religious liberties of France. His heart was depressed, and all his thoughts seemed gloomy. Once, when one of the fiercest gusts shook the house, he burst forth in an absent tone, exclaiming, "Ay, blow! blow! You may blow now without doing any damage to Fortune's favorite! By the Lord in Heaven, Mr. Langdale, it would seem that this man Richelieu's fortunes have even bent the clouds and storms to his subjection! Here that tempestuous sea which was never known for six weeks to an end to be without storm and ship-wreck has been as calm and tranquil as a fish-pond in a garden for months—ever since that accursed dyke was first commenced; and now no sooner is Rochelle lost than up rises the spirit of the tempest. Hark how it howls! At high tide half the dyke that has ruined us will be swept away! Mark my words, young gentleman: by this time to-morrow all the succors which we needed so many months will be able to enter our port in safety."

And it was so. On the following day, more than forty toises of the dyke were carried away, and a fleet of small wine-vessels from the neighboring country entered the harbor without difficulty.

The storm raged fiercely for the next two days; and the time was spent in friendly intercourse by Clement Tournon and Edward Langdale, who wished to embark from Rochelle but could find no vessel ready or willing to put to sea.

Of all the remarkable changes which have taken place in the state of society during the last two hundred years—changes which produce and will daily produce other changes—none is so wonderful as in the facility of locomotion. The change from the caterpillar to the butterfly is not so great. Go back two hundred years, and you will find nothing but delay and uncertainty. Ay, within a shorter space than that, the back of your own horse, the inconvenient inside of a heavy coach going three miles in an hour, or the still slower wagon with its miscellaneous denizens, or the post-horse with its postilion riding beside it, were, in every part of Europe, the only means afforded to the traveller of journeying from place to place over the land; while over the water slow ships could only be found occasionally at certain ports, and their departure and arrival depended upon a thousand other chances and events than the pleasure of the winds and waves. It is only wonderful that a voyage did not occupy a lifetime. Now——But it is no use telling my reader what this now is. He knows it so well that he forgets even the inconveniences that he himself has suffered, perhaps a score or two of years ago, and can hardly conceive the possibility of the hardships, the troubles and disappointments, of a journey in the seventeenth century, till he takes up some of the memoirs or romances of that day, and finds a whole host of minor miseries recorded which render an expedition to Mount Sinai at present but a joke in comparison. It is true that our present system has its evils as well as its benefits, viewed by different persons according to their different professional or habitual tastes. The picturesque traveller will tell you that you lose one-half of the scenery; the timid traveller, that you risk breaking your neck; the police-officer, that thieves and swindlers get off much more easily than they used to do; and members of Parliament, that their constituents are a great deal too near at hand. But there are compensations for all these little troubles and especially in the case of those of the police-officer; for, if the thief or swindler has easy means of getting away, there are—thanks to electric telegraphs—more easy means still of catching him.

All Edward's preparations were made: the calculation of what rents had accumulated in the hands of good Dr. Winthorne was easy also, and to get the amount in gold and silver was easier still, with Clement Tournon at his right hand. But, as there seemed, upon inquiry, no probability whatever of a ship sailing from Rochelle within a reasonable time, Edward determined to run across the country to Calais, between which port and England there always has been a desultory trade carried on, even in time of war, down to the reign of the third George.

"I shall see you soon again, Edward," said old Clement Tournon, as the young gentleman descended the stairs to mount his horse.

"I trust so," said Edward. "But I really cannot tell how soon I shall return."

"Nor I how soon I shall go over," said the old man, with a smile. "I have business myself at Huntingdon; and if you are in that neighborhood a month hence we shall meet there. You have told me all the places where you intend to stop, and I have made a note of it,—so that I shall easily find you wherever you are."

Edward was surprised, but not so much, perhaps, as might be expected; for, from vague hints which his good old host had let drop, he had gathered that Clement Tournon, steadfast and perhaps a little bigoted in the Protestant faith, had a strong inclination to make England his future home. He had been there often; he loved the country and the people, and still more the religion; and most of the ties between him and Rochelle seemed to have been severed when the city lost its independence. Often in Edward's hearing he had called England the land of comfort and peace,—alas! it was not destined long to remain so,—and even that very day he had remarked that the state of France, with its constant broils, intrigues, and factions, might suit a young and aspiring spirit, but was not fitted for declining years.

He and his young friend parted with deep and mutual regret. It is seldom that so much friendship ever exists between the old and the young; but each might feel that he owed the other his life, not by any sudden act which might be the result of a momentary impulse, but by calm, determined, persevering kindness, which could not but have a deeper source.

This has been a very short chapter: but we may as well change the scene; for our space, according to the law of Goths and Vandals, which altereth not, is very short, alas!