Presently I distinguished, in the midst of the road, a horseman.
When the straggling houses came in view, the horseman stopped indecisively.
It was evident that he knew not whether to stop or continue his route.
For the moment, I thought of showing myself, and offering to guide them; but, on second thoughts, I considered it the least likely mode by which to gain information.
I therefore stayed where I was, doubly hidden by the night and the wall.
The horseman dismounted, passed the bridle of his horse over his arm, and walked on a few paces, knocking at the doors of the different houses to see if they would open.
At last he knocked at No. 4. That opened.
It was the property of a small householder, called Jourdan.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” asked a voice.
“Pardon, monsieur,” returned the courier: “but is this Varennes?”