There was no doubt about it. Their best plan was to depart.
But a pretext must be found.
M. de Choiseul, in the midst of some five or six hundred gaping peasants who surrounded him, summoned the postmaster.
“Monsieur,” said he, “we are here for the purpose of escorting a treasure, but this treasure does not arrive. Do you know if any gold has been this last day or so to Metz?”
“This morning,” replied the postmaster, “the diligence brought a hundred thousand crowns, and was escorted by two gendarmes.”
If the postmaster had been prompted, he could not have spoken better.
“It was Robin and me who escorted it,” cried a gendarme, hidden among the crowd.
Then M. de Choiseul, turning to M. Goguelot, said, “Monsieur, the Ministry have preferred the ordinary mode of carriage. As a hundred thousand crowns have passed through here this morning, our further presence here is unnecessary. Trumpeter, sound boot and saddle, and we will be off.”
The trumpeter obeyed.