"How far is it to La Rochelle?" Rupert asked.
"Thirty-five miles."
"Are there any byroads, by which we can make a detour, so as to avoid this main road, and so come down either from the north or south into the town?"
The landlord gave some elaborate directions.
"Good!" Rupert said. "I think we shall get through yet."
Then he broke up two of the portions of bread, and gave them to the horses, removed the bits from their mouths, and poured a bottle of wine down each of their throats; then bridled up and mounted, throwing two louis to the host, and saying:
"We can trust you to be secret as to our having been here, can we not?"
The landlord swore a great oath that he would say nothing of their having passed, and they then rode on.
"That landlord had 'rogue' written on his face," Adele said.
"Yes, indeed," Rupert said. "I warrant me by this time he has sent off to the nearest post. Now we will take the first road to the north, and make for Nantes. It is getting dark now, and we must not make more than another ten miles. These poor brutes have gone thirty already."