“Have we another vise of our passports here, then?” said I, addressing the courier, “for we have already been examined at Nancy?”
“Not exactly a vise,” said the courier, eyeing me most suspiciously as he spoke, and then continuing to eat with his former voracity.
“Then, what, may I ask, have we to do with the gens-d’armes?”
“It is a search,” said the courier, gruffly, and with the air of one who desired no further questioning.
I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, and filling the large goblet before him, said, with much respect,
“A votre bonne voyage, Monsier le Courier.”
To this he at once replied, by taking off his cap and bowing politely as he drank off the wine.
“Have we any runaway felon or a stray galerien among us?” said I, laughingly, “that they are going to search us?”
“No, monsieur,” said the courier; “but there has been a government order to arrest a person on this road connected with the dreadful Polish plot, that has just eclated at Paris. I passed a vidette of cavalry at Nancy, and they will be up here in half an hour.”
“A Polish plot! Why, I left Paris only two days ago, and never heard of it.”