"He'll never permit a marriage with me," I said.
"'T ain't nec'sary," he declared soberly. "In this 'ere country don' tek only tew t' mek a bargain. One o' the blessin's o' liberty."
He squinted up at the sky, delivering his confidence in slowly measured phrases, to wit; "Wouldn't give ten cents fer no man 'at 'll give up a gal 'less he 'd orter—not fer nuthin' ner nobody."
I was called out of bed at cockcrow in the morning. The baroness and a footman were at the door.
"Ah, my captain, there is trouble," she whispered. "M. de Lambert has taken his daughters. They are going back to Paris, bag and baggage. Left in the evening."
"By what road?"
"The turnpike militaire."
"Thanks, and good morning," I said. "I shall overhaul them."
I called D'ri, and bade him feed the horses quickly. I went to see General Brown, but he and Wilkinson were on the latter's gig, half a mile out in the harbor. I scribbled a note to the farmer-general, and, leaving it, ran to the stables. Our horses were soon ready, and D'ri and I were off a bit after daylight, urging up hill and down at a swift gallop, and making the forest ring with hoof-beats. Far beyond the chateau we slackened pace and went along leisurely. Soon we passed the town where they had put up overnight, and could see the tracks of horse and coach-wheel. D'ri got off and examined them presently.
"Purty fresh," he remarked. "Can't be more 'n five mild er so further on."