"The devil!" muttered Jean Pierre, climbing slowly into the saddle. "My milk-drinker is in a dreadful hurry all of a sudden. I sha'n't be able to get my horses there fast enough, now, I suppose."
As he spoke, he guided his horses up to the door of the inn, and the traveller stepped into the vehicle. The landlord bowed respectfully to his patron, and as he closed the carriage door called out to the postilion:
"Drive along, Jean Pierre, monsieur is in a hurry."
"You shall just fly along, monsieur," replied Jean Pierre, cracking his whip noisily.
They traversed the town at a gallop and soon reached the highway, but they had gone only a couple of hundred yards when the postilion checked his horses abruptly, and, turning in his saddle, seemed to be waiting for something.
The traveller, surprised at this sudden stop, lowered one of the windows, and asked:
"Well, what's the matter?"
"What's the matter?"
"Yes."
"I've no idea, I'm sure."