The carriage came to a stand-still. The driver turned doubtfully and scratched his head.
“But, monsieur—” he remonstrated.
M. Raoul interrupted him in a still more peremptory tone.
“There!”
“But monsieur remembers that Madame de Beaudrillart especially said—”
For the third time the one word shot out:
“There!”
Jean scratched his head again, looked round helplessly, and then stared at the sky. Finding no suggestion for extricating himself from the dilemma, he ended by submitting to M. Raoul’s order, and, with a sigh of perplexity, turned in the direction indicated. He had lived long enough at Poissy to have learned that it was often difficult to reconcile opposing wills, and that, as they were strong, there was always the risk of being crushed by them. Moreover, he was not without hope. The way they had taken was scarcely wide enough for the carriage—branches whipped their faces, and they were bumped relentlessly over the rough ground. Jean groaned loudly, and glanced back at his master to see how he liked it. But M. Raoul showed no sign of discomfiture; he sat erect, smiling, and now and then flourishing something which he held tightly grasped in his hand. Presently they reached a grassy opening enclosed with trees. The carriage halted, and Jean advanced towards it, reins in hand.
“Monsieur sees for himself that we can go no farther.”
M. Raoul did not give him time to reach him. Before Jean could realise what he was doing, he had slipped out of the carriage on the opposite side, and plunged into an undergrowth of bushes which clothed a steep bank, and crept down to the river. Jean made an ineffectual effort to follow and stop him, but the small pony, excited by M. Raoul’s triumphant cry, began to back and kick and show signs of bolting, so that his driver was forced, to return to his head. Jean was a person slow to make up his mind, and with a strong objection to responsibilities. He had remarked that they generally brought one into trouble. If Mme. de Beaudrillart, or either of the young ladies, madame’s daughters, happened to be walking in the grounds, as was too likely, and met the carriage and pony without a driver, it was impossible to say what might not happen; and as it was out of the question to keep both the carriage and M. Raoul in view, and he had unbounded confidence in M. Raoul’s capabilities, Jean resolved to stick to the carriage. But though occasionally stupid, he was not a fool, and he recognised the need of letting some one know of M. Raoul’s vagaries. He therefore pushed the pony as quickly as possible through the tangled path, and when he found himself again in a wider road, set off at a fast trot towards the château, hoping quickly to meet his father or another of the gardeners. Unfortunately, however, the first person he encountered was the last to whom he would have desired to tell his story.