“Farewell, De Beauvais! But ere we separate forever, let me hear from your lips that you bear me no enmity; that we are friends, as we used to be.”
“Here is my hand. I care not if you injured me once; we can be friends now, for we are little likely to meet again as enemies. Adieu!”
While De Beauvais left the room to order the horses to be in readiness, the landlord entered it, and seemed to busy himself most eagerly in preparing my knapsack for the road.
“I trust you will be many a mile hence ere the day breaks,” said he, with an anxiety I could ill comprehend, but which at the time I attributed to his desire for the safety of one intrusted with an important mission. “And now, here come the horses.'”
A moment more, and I was seated in the saddle. A brief word at parting was all De Beauvais spoke, and turned away; and the minute after I was hurrying onward towards Beudron.
CHAPTER XXXII. THE FALAISE DE BIVILLE.
Everything occurred as De Beauvais had predicted. The authorities in the little villages we passed glanced at my passport, and as instantaneously handed it back, and we journeyed like couriers of the Emperor, without halt or impediment.
We reached Lisieux early in the evening, where, having dismissed the servant and horses, I took my way on foot towards a small fishing village, called La Hupe, where at a certain cabaret I was to find my guide to Biville.
The address of the sailor written on a card, and marked with a peculiar cipher by De Beauvais, was at once recognized by the old Norman, who welcomed me with a rude but kindly hospitality.