“I did tell you—I want to learn that my father in Paris is not killed or hurt.”
“Alas, my poor boy,” said Isidore with profound sadness, “I am going to town on the like errand: only I have no doubt; one of my brothers, Valence, was slain at Versailles yesterday.”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” said the youth, holding out his hand to the speaker, which the latter took and squeezed.
“Well, my dear boy, since our fate is akin,” said the cavalier, “we must not separate; you must like me be eager to get to Paris.”
“Oh, dear, yes!”
“You can never reach it on foot.”
“I could do it but it would take too long; so I reckon on taking a place in a stage going my way, and get what lift I can do the journey.”
“Better than that, my boy; get up behind my man.”
Sebastian plucked his hands out of the other’s grasp.
“I thank you, my lord,” said he in such a tone that the noble understood that he had hurt the youth’s feelings by offering to mount him behind his inferior.