“There is nothing in my mind,” she answered gaily.
“Then there is something in your heart, and that is worse!” said Barlasch, which made Desiree look at him doubtfully.
They had done forty miles with the same horses, and were nearly halfway. For some hours the road had followed the course of the Vistula on the high tableland above the river, and would so continue until they reached Thorn.
“You must sleep,” said Barlasch curtly, when they were once more on the road. She sat silent beside him for an hour. The horses were fresh, and covered the ground at a great pace. Barlasch was no driver, but he was skilful with the horses, and husbanded their strength at every hill.
“If we go on like this, when shall we arrive?” asked Desiree suddenly.
“By eight o'clock, if all goes well.”
“And we shall find Monsieur Louis d'Arragon awaiting us at Thorn?”
Barlasch shrugged his shoulders doubtfully.
“He said he would be there,” he muttered, and, turning in his seat, he looked down at her with some contempt.
“That is like a woman,” he said. “They think all men are fools except one, and that one is only to be compared with the bon Dieu.”