"On neither side is there urgency," corrected the doctor; "Billet's state is serious but not mortal unless by mischance. Mother Billet may linger ten days yet."
"She don't look it, but, of course, you know best."
"We may as well leave poor Catherine another night of repose and ignorance; a night's rest is of importance to the unfortunate, Pitou."
"Then, where are we going, doctor?" asked the peasant, yielding to the argument.
"I shall give you a room you have slept in before; and to-morrow at six, my horses shall be put to the carriage to take you to Villedavray."
"Lord, is it fifty leagues off?"
"Nay, it is only two or three."
"Then I can cover it in an hour or two—I can lick it up like an egg."
"Yes, but Catherine can lick up like an egg the distance from Villedavray to Paris and the eighteen leagues from Paris to Villers Cotterets?"