D'Esmonde nodded, but said no more. Although scarcely a league from the city, the way occupied a considerable time, being one continued and steep ascent. The Abbé was, however, too deeply engaged with his own thoughts to bestow attention on the pace they journeyed, or the scene around. He was far from being insensible to the influence of the picturesque or the beautiful; but now other and weightier considerations completely engrossed his mind, nor was he aware how the moments passed till the carriage came to a stop.
“The Prince is absent, sir, in Lombardy,” said a gruff-looking porter from within the gate.
D'Esmonde descended, and whispered some words between the bars.
“But my orders——my orders!” said the man, in a tone of deference.
“They would be peremptory against any other than me,” said D'Esmonde, calmly; and, after a few seconds' pause, the man unlocked the gate, and the carriage passed in.
“To the back entrance,” called out D'Esmonde. And they drove into a spacious courtyard, where a number of men were engaged in washing carriages, cleaning horses, and all the other duties of the stable. One large and cumbrous vehicle, loaded with all the varied “accessories” of the road, and fortified by many a precaution against the accidents of the way, stood prominent. It was covered with stains and splashes, and bore unmistakable evidence of a long Journey. A courier, with a red-brown beard descending to his breast, was busy in locking and unlocking the boxes, as if in search of some missing article.
“How heavy the roads are in the north!” said D'Esmonde, addressing him in German.
The man touched his cap in a half-sullen civility, and muttered an assent.
“I once made the same journey myself, in winter,” resumed the Abbé, “and I remembered thinking that no man undergoes such real hardship as a courier. Sixteen, seventeen, ay, twenty days and nights of continued exposure to cold and snows, and yet obliged to have all his faculties on full stretch the whole time, to remember every post station, every bridge and ferry,—the steep mountain passes, where oxen must be hired,—the frontiers of provinces, where passports are vised.”
“Ay, and when the lazy officials will keep you standing in the deep snow a full hoar at midnight, while they ring every copeck to see it be good money.”