It was night when they arrived at Montolieu, and De Blenau asked his conductor if he intended to stop there till morning.
“No, Monsieur le Comte,” replied the Officer; “we must proceed as speedily as possible to Mirepoix, where I expect orders for my farther conduct.”
“Then you go to Tarascon, in the Pyrenees,” said De Blenau. “I thought his Eminence was at the city of that name by the banks of the Rhone, opposite Beaucaire.”
“He was there some time ago,” replied the Officer; “but he has since gone to the mountains, where, doctors say, there are waters which have great virtues in sickness like his. For my part, I always thought the springs there very bad, and neither fit for man nor beast. But, nevertheless, we must hasten on, Sir.”
The next place they stopped at was Corneille; and, according to his custom, the Officer remained with De Blenau in the carriage, while the troopers arranged every thing that was necessary for proceeding on their journey. There seemed, however, to be a considerable bustle amongst the men; and after waiting patiently for a few minutes, the Officer drew back the curtain, and thrusting his head from the window, inquired the cause of delay? The answer he received, imported that no fresh horses could be procured, and that those which had drawn them so far were incapable of proceeding even to the next town. “How happens it that there are no horses?” demanded he impatiently; “there ought always to be horses reserved for the use of the Government.” To this it was replied, that so many people had passed to the court at Tarascon, that every horse which could be hired, even at an exorbitant price, had been carried away.
The Officer paused, as if doubting what course to pursue; but there being no remedy, he was obliged to alight, in order to pass the night at Corneille; taking care, however, to despatch one of the troopers to Mirepoix, to bring any orders which might be waiting for him in that town.
The moon was up, and as De Blenau descended from the carriage, he perceived a little stream dashing and glistening over the wheel of a mill, that stood dark and defined against the moonlight sky. It was to this they were apparently proceeding; and as they approached nearer, there was seen an irregular part of the building projecting from the rest, which seemed appropriated to the particular use of the Miller. At the same time, on a wooden staircase, which wound up the outside of the house, appeared a man, holding a light, and habited in one of those dusty jackets, which have been the insignia of flour-grinders from all generations. At the moment I speak of, he was holding a conversation with one of the troopers, and, by his quick articulation and busy gestures, seemed engaged in making remonstrances, without any great effect.
“What does he say?” exclaimed the Officer, who caught a few words of their conversation as he got out of the carriage. “That we cannot stop here the night? Give him a cuff of the head, Joly, to teach him better manners to the Cardinal’s guard. By Heavens! he shall find me horses to-night, or he shall lodge me till to-morrow!”
“Stay if you will, Sir Officer,” rejoined the Miller, raising his voice—“but I tell you that you ought not to stay; and as for laying a finger on me—you know I serve the Cardinal as well as you, and you dare not!”
“Dare not!” cried the Officer, who was by this time mounting the stairs, catching the Miller by the collar, and striking him a slight blow—“You are a refractory rascal, Sir!—Open the door of your house, or I will throw you over the staircase.—Come, Monsieur de Blenau, follow me.”