“An easy road?”
“But far from it. For yourself difficult; for Madame impossible.”
That was discomforting; but it was not accurate. The road, as we discovered next day, was a carriage road and easily distinguishable, though decidedly steep.
“A voiture?” I suggested.
The stationmaster shrugged his shoulders, and called to an urchin, who was hanging about by the platform wicket. A brief colloquy ensued between the two as to the probability of Charloun’s cart being available. Finally, in order to ascertain, the boy ran down the hill, on which the station was situated, into lower gulfs of blackness. He was absent ten or fifteen minutes, when he re-appeared with the information that there was no possibility of our procuring a trap of any sort whatever.
“A guide, possibly?” I asked.
It was certain, was the answer, that no one could be found at this time of night, and the day’s labour over, to put himself to the trouble.
“This is pleasant,” I said to Fifine; and turned again to the stationmaster:—
“There is, without question, an inn?”
O, yes, there was an inn, it appeared, one inn, but hardly of a quality to appeal to travellers of our distinction. It was merely, in short, a cabaret. “Still, if Monsieur and Madame——”