“That's the true and only metal for a coinage,” said D'Esmonde, as he drew forth a gold Napoleon, and placed it in the other's hand. “Take it, my worthy fellow,” said he; “it's part of a debt I owe to every man who wears the courier's jacket. Had it not been for one of your cloth, I 'd have been drowned at the ford of Ostrovitsch.”
“It's the worst ferry in the Empire,” said the courier. “The Emperor himself had a narrow escape there. The raft is one half too small.”
“How many days have you taken on the way?” asked D'Esmonde, carelessly
“Twenty-eight—yesterday would have made the twenty-ninth—but we arrived before noon.”
“Twenty-eight days!” repeated D'Esmonde, pondering.
“Ay, and nights too! But remember that Vradskoi Noteki is three hundred and eighty versts below St. Petersburg.”
“I know it well,” said D'Esmonde, “and with a heavily loaded carriage it's a weary road. How did she bear the journey?” said he, in a low, scarcely uttered whisper.
“Bear it I——better than I did; and, except when scolding the postilions for not going twelve versts an hour, in deep snow, she enjoyed herself the entire way.”
D'Esmonde gave a knowing look and a smile, as though to say that he recognized her thoroughly in the description.
“You know her, then?” asked the courier.