"Lord Stainville? Duke Choiseul's brother? The mischief! Whip on, postillion! faster, faster!"
The whip snapped and Gilbert felt the vehicle jump with more velocity.
"We may outstrip her if she stops for breakfast, or at night," meditated the woman. "Postillion, which is the next town of any account?"
"Vitry."
"Where do we change horses?"
"Vauclere."
"Go on; but tell me if you see a string of carriages on the main road. Poor child!" she continued, seeing how pale Gilbert was; "it is my fault for making him chatter when he is dying of hunger and thirst."
To make up for the lost time, she took out a traveling flask with a silver cap as stopper, into which she poured a cordial.
"Drink that and eat a cake," she said, "until you can have a substantial breakfast in an hour or two. Now, as you are a whit refreshed, tell me, if you have any trust in me, what interest you have in following the carriage belonging to the dauphiness' train?"
He related his story with much clearness.