"I have more news yet," said Chauvin, gravely. "Hark, in your ear, Messire Jacques. I have hardly eaten or drank, and have not slept a wink from the gates of Paris to Bourges, and Bourges hither, all to bring you these tidings speedily. Hark in your ear!" and he whispered something to Jacques Cœur. The other listened attentively, gave a very slight start, and appeared somewhat, but not greatly moved.
"God rest his soul!" he said, at length. "He has had a troublous life--God rest his soul!"
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Who has not heard of the beautiful Allier? Who has not heard of the magnificent Auvergne? But the horseman stopped not to gaze at the mountains round him. He lingered not upon the banks of the stream; he hardly gave more than a glance at the rich Limagne. At Clermont, indeed, he halted for two whole hours, but it was an enforced halt, for his horse broke down with hard riding, and all the time was spent in purchasing another. A crust of bread and a cup of wine afforded the only refreshment he himself took, and on he went through the vineyards and the orchards, loaded with the last fruits of autumn. At Issoire he gave his horse hay and water, and then rode on at great speed to Lempole, but passed by its mighty basaltic rock, crowned with its castle, though he looked up with feelings of interest and regret as he connected it with the memory of Louis of Orleans. At Brioude he was forced to pause for a while; but his horse fed readily, and on he went again, out of the narrow streets of that straggling, disagreeable town, over the mountains, through the valleys, with vast volcanic forms all around him, and hamlets and villages built of the dark gray lava, hardly distinguishable from the rocks on which they stood. More than seventy miles he rode on straight from Clermont, and drew not a rein between Brioude and Puy, which burst upon his sight suddenly on the eastern declivity of the mountains, with its rich, unrivaled amphitheatre, and its three rivers flowing away at the foot. The sun was within a hand's breadth of the horizon. All the valleys seen from that elevation were flooded with light; the old cathedral itself looked like a resplendent amethyst, and devout pilgrims to the miraculous shrine still crowded the streets, some turning on their way homeward, some mounting the innumerable steps to say one prayer more at the feet of the Virgin.
Jean Charost rode straight up to the little old inn--small and miserable as compared with many of the vast buildings appropriated in those days to the reception of the traveler in France, and still smaller in proportion to the number of devout persons who daily flocked into the city. But then the landlord argued that the pilgrims came for grace, and not for good living, and that therefore the body must put up with what it could get, if the soul was taken care of. Jean passed under the archway into the court-yard, gave his horse to an hostler of precisely the same stamp as the man who afforded a type to Shakspeare, and then, turning back toward the street, met the host in the doorway, prepared to tell him that he must wait long for supper, and put up with a garret.
"I want nothing at present, my good friend," replied Jean Charost, "but a cup of wine, which is ready at all times, and some one to show me my way on foot to Espaly. Indeed, I should not have turned in here at all, but that my horse could go no further."
"Ah, sir," cried the host, with his civility and curiosity both awakened together; "so you are going to see Monseigneur le Dauphin? News now, I warrant, and good, I hope--pray, what is it?"
"Excellent good," replied Jean Charost.
"First, that a thirsty man talks ill with a dry mouth; and, secondly, that a wise man never gives his message except to the person it is sent to. The dauphin will be delighted with these tidings; and so now give me a cup of wine, and some one to show me the way."
"Ha, you are a wag!" said the landlord; "but harkee, sir; you had better take my mule. It will be ready while I am drawing the wine, and you drinking it. Though they say, 'Espaly, near Puy,' it is not so near as they call it. My boy shall go with you on a quick-trotting ass to bring back the mule."