They had scarcely disappeared when a notable change took place in the demeanor of our market-man. He stopped his horse, straightened up, put the mouthpiece of a tiny trumpet to his lips, and blew three times. A species of groom emerged from the woods which line the road, leading a gentleman’s horse by the bridle. The market-man rapidly removed his blouse, discarded his linen trousers, and appeared in vest and breeches of buckskin, and top boots. He searched in his cart, drew forth a package which he opened, shook out a green hunting coat with gold braidings, put it on, and over it a dark-brown overcoat; took from the servant’s hands a hat which the latter presented him, and which harmonized with his elegant costume, made the man screw his spurs to his boots, and sprang upon his horse with the lightness and skill of an experienced horseman.
“To-night at seven,” he said to the groom, “be on the road between Saint-Just and Ceyzeriat. You will meet Morgan. Tell him that he whom he knows of has gone to Mâcon, but that I shall be there before him.”
Then, without troubling himself about his cart and vegetables, which he left in his servant’s charge, the ex-marketman, who was none other than our old acquaintance Montbar, turned his horse’s head toward the Monnet woods, and set out at a gallop. His mount was not a miserable post hack, like that on which Roland was riding. On the contrary, it was a blooded horse, so that Montbar easily overtook the two riders, and passed them on the road between the woods of Monnet and Polliat. The horse, except for a short stop at Saint-Cyr-sur-Menthon, did the twenty-eight or thirty miles between Bourg and Mâcon, without resting, in three hours.
Arrived at Mâcon, Montbar dismounted at the Hôtel de la Poste, the only one which at that time was fitted to receive guests of distinction. For the rest, from the manner in which Montbar was received it was evident that the host was dealing with an old acquaintance.
“Ah! is it you, Monsieur de Jayat?” said the host. “We were wondering yesterday what had become of you. It’s more than a month since we’ve seen you in these parts.”
“Do you think it’s as long as that, friend?” said the young man, affecting to drop his r’s after the fashion of the day. “Yes, on my honor, that’s so! I’ve been with friends, the Trefforts and the Hautecourts. You know those gentlemen by name, don’t you?”
“By name, and in person.”
“We hunted to hounds. They’re finely equipped, word of honor! Can I breakfast here this morning?”
“Why not?”
“Then serve me a chicken, a bottle of Bordeaux, two cutlets, fruit—any trifle will go.”