Along the latter, which before the lapse of five years will be a busy street, are built a few houses, hideous in design, and at some distance apart; rural summer retreats of city merchants, but unoccupied during the winter.
It was at the junction of these two roads that Prosper stopped the hack.
The driver had gained his hundred francs. The horses were completely worn out, but they had accomplished all that was expected of them; M. Verduret could distinguish the lamps of a hack similar to the one he occupied, about fifty yards ahead of him.
M. Verduret jumped out, and, handing the driver a bank-note, said:
“Here is what I promised you. Go to the first tavern you find on the right-hand side of the road as you enter the village. If we do not meet you there in an hour, you are at liberty to return to Paris.”
The driver was overwhelming in his thanks; but neither Prosper nor his friend heard them. They had already started up the new road.
The weather, which had been inclement when they set out, was now fearful. The rain fell in torrents, and a furious wind howled dismally through the dense woods.
The intense darkness was rendered more dreary by the occasional glimmer of the lamps at the distant station, which seemed about to be extinguished by every new gust of wind.
M. Verduret and Prosper had been running along the muddy road for about five minutes, when suddenly the latter stopped and said:
“This is Raoul’s house.”