“Horses!” said the officer, in an imperious voice.
“Directly!” replied the postmaster: “your road-pass, if you please.”
“I have no road-pass: I am not going to take the main road.... Besides, don’t you recognize me?”
The postmaster hastened to hurry the postilions. The young man began to pace up and down the room. Then he went behind the partition, and inquired of the postmistress in a low voice:
“Who is that traveller?”
“God knows!” replied the postmistress: “some Frenchman or other. He has been five hours waiting for horses, and has done nothing but whistle the whole of the time. He has quite wearied me, the heathen!”
The young man spoke to the traveller in French.
“Where are you going to?” he asked.
“To the neighbouring town,” replied the Frenchman: “and from there I am going to a landed proprietor who has engaged me as tutor without ever having seen me. I thought I should have reached the place to-day, but the postmaster has evidently decided otherwise. In this country it is difficult to procure horses, monsieur l’officier.”
“And to which of the landed proprietors about here have you engaged yourself?” asked the officer.