“So, citizen,” said a stout gentleman against whom a tall woman, very thin and haggard, was crowding in her terror. “You say that the robbery took place on the very road by which we have just come?”
“Yes, citizen, between Lambesc and Pont-Royal. Did you notice the spot where the road ascends between two high banks? There are a great many rocks there.”
“Yes, yes, my friend,” said the wife, pressing her husband’s arm, “I noticed it; I even said, as you must remember, ‘Here is a bad place; I would rather pass here by day than at night.’”
“Oh! madame,” said a young man whose voice affected to slur his r’s after the fashion of the day, and who probably assumed to lead the conversation at the table d’hôte, on ordinary occasions, “you know the Companions of Jehu know no day or night.”
“What! citizen,” asked the lady still more alarmed, “were you attacked in broad daylight?”
“In broad daylight, citizeness, at ten o’clock in the morning.”
“And how many were there?” asked the stout gentleman.
“Four, citizen.”
“Ambushed beside the road?”
“No; they were on horseback, armed to the teeth and masked.”