Twenty miles in a day is no great walking. I myself have walked forty in ten hours. But the great point is what we walk over. It is the great point in life, too; for the worthy patriarchs, I have no doubt, journeyed through life for two or three hundred years without getting weary, simply because they had such an easy road to travel. Abraham had to fight now and then, it is true, and from time to time there was a quarrel amongst the herdsmen; but these were little incidents that only served to enliven the way; and the rest of the travel was without excitement of mind or great exertion of body. If Abraham or Isaac or Jacob had passed through nothing but low entangling bushes,—bilberries and cranberries, and sometimes blackberries, with their long prickly arms,—they would have laid themselves down to rest much sooner, and felt themselves as tired as Edward Langdale when, just about daybreak, he reached the end of the twentieth mile from the Chateau of Coiffy.

Edward had then arrived at a country somewhat more open; and he sat himself down to rest not far from a little country-road, which he could trace by the eye, running on, almost in a straight line, toward the tall square tower of a village-church. But that village-church was at least six miles distant; and Edward had not tasted food during fourteen or fifteen hours. His wet clothes had dried upon him, too, under the cold night-wind, stiffening every limb; and he had no comfortable little brandy-bottle, such as so often cheers the way for the modern romantic traveller.

The spot where he stopped, however, was a dry grassy mound, with some yellow broken ground before it; and out of the bank welled a little clear rivulet, where he quenched his thirst after the olden fashion before ladles or goblets were invented.

While he was still stooping down he heard the beat of horses' feet upon the road; and, with that strong consciousness of running away which makes every man who possesses it more or less timid, he hid himself under the bank as well as he could.

Presently, as well as the footfalls, he heard the sound of voices; and for a moment his apprehension was increased by one of the voices sounding familiar to his ear.

He was relieved in a moment, however,—and very much relieved.

"Why, you are drunk already, you beast!" said one voice; and then came the thick and juicy tones of good Pierrot la Grange, with the music of brandy very strong in them. "To-be-sure I am," answered Pierrot. "Have I not had sorrow and trouble enough to make me drunk every day of the week for the last three months? My noble lord in prison; Master Ned no one knows where,—the only lad in all this world that could keep me straight."

"Pierrot! Pierrot!" shouted Edward; "Jacques BeauprÉ! halt there! I am nearer than you think."

The two horsemen stopped, the one with a dumb and stupefied gaze around, a little conscience-stricken, perhaps, at the state in which he had to present himself to his young master, the other with an observation in a low tone as to the consequences of talking of the devil. But Edward was soon by their side, and they were not long upon their horses' backs. Each was sincerely glad to see the young Englishman; for force of character as often wins affection as respect. Edward's adventures were soon told; and luckily the two men had some solid provisions with them, as well as Pierrot's brandy-bottle,—which was now nearly vacant of its contents. While the young gentleman ate and drank, the history of the two servants was related, at somewhat greater length than his own, though it was a very monotonous one. They had remained at Nancy with the rest of Lord Montagu's servants for some time, they said, before they heard of that nobleman's capture. After the news reached them, a week was spent, according to Jacques BeauprÉ, in active deliberations, at the end of which, as they had a sufficiency of money, their wages having been paid for some time in advance, it was determined to stay quietly where they were till they received some orders. One or two of their comrades, however, dropped off from time to time, till the two French-men and young Freeland only remained of the whole party. For week after week no news came; but at length, some four days previous to that on which they spoke, a messenger had arrived from Lord Montagu, announcing his liberation and bearing funds to pay all expenses. At the same time, they said, Master Freeland was ordered to give them their discharge, and they were actually on their way back to their own part of France.

"And so his lordship is liberated?" said Edward, with a slight touch of bitterness in his tone; for he could not imagine such an event to have happened so suddenly that Montagu, who had found time to take care of common servants, had none to bestow a thought on him. "You are going back to Aunis, you say. Well, my good fellows, if you have a mind for such a companion, I will go with you. I will be no charge to you, for I have money enough with me. All I want is a horse and some arms."

"Charge, Master Ned!" exclaimed Pierrot, in a burst of semi-drunken enthusiasm. "What care we about charges? If it were the last crown I had in the world, I would share it with you. And as to a horse, here, get upon mine. I can walk well enough to that big village there, which they say is called Vitell. But here; let me take the pistols out of the holsters. I won't trust you with them, by the Lord!"

"Nonsense!" answered Edward. "I will not use them, man, upon my honor."

"No, no," said Pierrot, deliberately taking the pistols from his saddle-bow. "If once you get your hand upon the stock, there is no knowing where the bullets may go flying; and my legs have got lead enough in them already this morning."

"Your head has got brandy enough in it," said Jacques BeauprÉ: "that's what puts the lead in your heels. Here; let me hold the horse while our young master mounts, or you'll be down with your nose in the water and set the fountain boiling."

"If all the water in the world could wash it white," answered Pierrot, "I would tumble into a pond every day. It is that nose of mine gets me a bad reputation and makes men say I drink. Why, every man drinks. It entirely depends upon what men drink. But, after all, I think I had better try the cold water; for somehow I have a notion if I try to walk to Vitell with nothing but brandy in my stomach I shall make the distance three times as long with zigzags and vagaries."

Thus saying, while Edward mounted, very well pleased with some relief to his tired legs, Pierrot knelt down by the side of a tolerably deep little pool formed by the rivulet at the side of the road, and, putting his lips to the clear water, took a deep draught. Jacques BeauprÉ, however, seemed to think that the water had better be applied externally also, and, giving him a push with his foot, sent him headlong into the pool.

The good man started up with a furious look; but we have already seen the singular effect which liquor had upon poor Pierrot la Grange,—an effect quite contrary to that which it produces on most men. The reader will not be surprised, then, that, though really angry, Pierrot sought no vengeance upon his assailant.

Had we time, and were it worth while, I might be inclined to examine psychologically into this peculiarity of Pierrot's idiosyncrasy; but suffice it to say that the result probably proceeded from one of two causes. Nothing cows like shame carried to a certain degree; and Pierrot at heart was always ashamed of being drunk. On the other hand, as when he did drink he never stopped at that point where liquor merely exhilarates, but generally went far enough to deprive both brain and limbs of vigor, he might feel very doubtful of his capability to combat an enemy even much weaker than himself.

However that might be, his immersion in cold water produced its usual effect. I do not say that it sobered him entirely: that would be too much; but it certainly greatly relieved his head, and gave his limbs a capability of direct progression which they had not previously possessed.

"Come, come, Pierrot," said Edward, interrupting him in the midst of terrible threats against Jacques, "we have no time to lose, my good friend. Did I not tell you that it is likely that I shall be pursued at once? We must get to the village as fast as possible, and then ride hard for the rest of the day, in order to put as great a distance between us and Coiffy as we can."

"Go on, then; go on," cried Pierrot: "I will come after as fast as I can. You can be buying a horse and arms in the mean time, if you can find them. If not, I suppose you must take to franc Étrier."

Edward took him at his word, and, accompanied by Jacques BeauprÉ, rode on, running over in his mind, with his usual quickness, his chances of escape and the best means of securing it. He did not know, indeed, how far the local jurisdiction, either as seigneur or Government officer, of the Count de Bourbonne extended; but he felt certain that, if he could once get beyond its limits, no other governor or Government officer would recognise it in opposition to the safe-conduct under the cardinal's own hand. Speed, therefore, was every thing; and, though he had neither whip nor spur with him, his light hand and thorough horsemanship easily kept Pierrot's horse at a swift trot till they reached the village of Vitell.

France has always been a comfortable country to travel in. Most villages have always possessed a tolerable inn, though the external man was sometimes not so well provided for as the internal. But what Edward principally wanted at that moment was generally in those days to be found in almost any part of France. People then almost universally travelled on horse-back, and very rarely went without arms. Pistols and a good sword, therefore, were soon found in Vitell. But a horse took longer to obtain, not from any want of the commodity,—for there were plenty of very excellent nags in the town,—but from the invariable and unextinguishable propensity inherent in horse-dealers to cheat the chapman, and never to sell a good horse under any circumstances if they can sell a bad one. Six were brought in succession to the door of the inn for Edward's inspection, without remaining for more than a minute before he ordered them away. At length, however, one of the dealers, perceiving that he had not to do with a novice, as Edward's youth had at first led him to imagine, thought fit to bring forth from the stable a beast which, though not very handsome and somewhat vicious,—if not so great a devil as that which Edward rode from Angers,—was a good serviceable beast enough. All these things cost but a small sum compared with the price which we should pay for them in the present day; and bridle, saddle, and a pair of spurs were quite within the young gentleman's means.

Pierrot had arrived in time to give his opinion in regard to the purchase of the horse, and, as he was now sober, that opinion was worth having. But the first moment he found himself alone with his former master he was eloquent in his excuses for his relapse; and Edward could not but admit to himself that, left alone in a great city where he knew no one, uncertain of his fate from day to day, and with sufficient money, no poor sinner had ever better cause to plead temptation.

The young Englishman contented himself, however, with telling him that as he was no longer his master he could pretend to no control over his conduct.

"Ah, Master Ned," cried the honest fellow, "do not say I am no longer your servant! Pray, do control me. I am sure I cannot control myself. You are the only one who ever could; and I do believe if I could but stay with you for a couple of years I should get over my bad habits. See what an effect good training had. All the time I was at Nancy, I declare, I did not drink two quarts till this very morning. Ask Jacques BeauprÉ: he will tell you the same; and if you will but let me serve you for two years you may read my name backward if I ever drink again."

"I am afraid, my good friend," answered Edward, "you would always be what the Catholics call a relapsed convert. As to serving me two years, Pierrot, God knows what will become of me before two years are over, and in the mean time I have little enough money for myself,—and none to keep a man upon."

"Well, well," cried Pierrot, joyfully, "I will run fortune with you! Only don't send me away, and don't fire at me any more, unless you see me drunk,—when it will be natural. But now tell me, Master Ned, where are you going now?"

"Into the lion's den, Pierrot," replied Edward, with a somewhat rueful smile: "I am going straight to the Cardinal de Richelieu."

"In the name of Heaven!" exclaimed Pierrot, with a look of astonishment, "do you know he is now besieging Rochelle with a powerful army? The king has fallen sick and gone back to Paris. The cardinal has tucked up his gown and turned soldier; and our poor friends in the city are already, they say, so badly off for food that they will soon have to eat each other. The cardinal will not let a mouse stir out, and if any one ventures beyond the walls they send a shot at him and drive him in again."

Edward mused without reply for some moments; and, while he was still silent, Jacques BeauprÉ came back to the little salle-À-manger and stood by the young gentleman's side.

"Poor Clement Tournon!" cried Edward, still musing.

"Ay, poor Clement Tournon!" said Jacques BeauprÉ, in a sad tone: "he is a good man, sir, and took care of me from my boyhood."

"I would give the world to save him," answered Edward. "Come, let us ride."

They were soon upon their horses. Edward mounted first and Pierrot last, having stopped to answer some questions of the host.

"What did he ask you?" said Edward, as they rode on.

"He asked where your lordship was going," answered Pierrot, "and I told him straight to the cardinal."

"Right," said Edward. "And did he call me lordship, Pierrot? My lordship is a very small one."

"Ay, sir, but you have got quite a grand air now, though your doublet is somewhat soiled by dust and wet. You cannot think how you are changed since we left Nantes. What between riding, and getting stuck, and being in prison, you have grown broad and brown, and your mustache is an inch long. Those who saw you before would never know you."

"I hope they will," answered Edward, with a smile followed by a sigh; "and, as for my doublet, I must get a new one, whenever I can afford to stop without danger. All my baggage I left with the discreet Monsieur de Bourbonne. But, if I am not mistaken, Pierrot, I will make him pay all he owes me before I have done."

"At the pistol's point?" asked Pierrot, with a grim smile.

"No, no," replied Edward,—"in another way, and by other hands. But let us ride on fast; for I have a great notion the news you left with the aubergist will sharpen the spurs of any who may be pursuing us."

The whole party accordingly rode forward more quickly, but not at so headlong a pace as to risk any damage to their horses; and before night all fear of pursuit was ended by their entrance into another province, where, at a small walled town, which they reached just after sunset, Edward was obliged to produce his safe-conduct before the soldiers at the gates would give them admission.

The officer to whom it was shown, at the first sight of the broad seal of France and the name of Richelieu, respectfully came out of the guard-house to bid the bearer welcome, and asked, with great politeness, where he was going to lodge in the town, and whither his journey was directed.

"I am going straight to Rochelle, or wherever his Eminence of Richelieu may be," replied the young Englishman. "As to the place where I shall lodge, I shall be glad of advice; for I am a stranger here, and must depart early to-morrow."

"Your horses look tired, sir," said the officer, "and you had better give them some rest."

"No wonder they are tired," replied the young man; "for we have ridden from the frontiers of Lorraine, where I was somewhat badly treated, lost all my baggage, but luckily saved my purse."

"By brigands?" asked the officer.

"No better," answered Edward, somewhat bitterly. "But may I ask you the way to the best inn?"

The officer, all politeness, sent one of the soldiers to show him the way; and in a large, comfortable, though somewhat gloomy, old auberge the young Englishman passed the first night for several months with a feeling of freedom and security.