Directly afterwards, a brisk-looking young fellow, carrying himself well enough, and clad in a fancy uniform, came in. He told me the tale I had heard from the coachman, and ended by saying that he was sure I would not refuse to accommodate his wife in my carriage.
“Your wife, sir?”
I saw he was a Frenchman, and I addressed him in French.
“God be praised! You can speak my native tongue. Yes, sir, she is an Englishwoman and my wife. I am sure she will be no trouble to you.”
“Very good. I don’t want to start later than I had arranged. Will she be ready at five o’clock?”
“Certainly.”
The next morning when I got into my carriage, I found her already there. I paid her some slight compliment, and sat down beside her, and we drove off.
CHAPTER XII
Miss Betty—The Comte de L’Etoile—Sir B * * * M * * *— Reassured
This was the fourth adventure I had had of this kind. There is nothing particularly out of the common in having a fellow-traveller in one’s carriage; this time, however, the affair had something decidedly romantic about it.