'Well.'
'One night at a gate of the Louvre when I was a sentinel, opposite the Hotel de Bourbon.'
'Do you remember what I said?'
'Could I forget anything in which Nicola bore a part? Well—I took your advice—I saw her no more.'
'Many thanks for such condescending acquiescence; but M. Blane will please to remember that he marched from Paris, as I foretold, next day. How far are we from Chalons?'
'About six miles.'
'Thank Heaven!'
'Why this thankfulness again?'
'Because this hateful—odious journey will soon be at an end.'
'Hateful?' said I, anxiously.