And still, as he observed, the snow fell, must have been falling all night, since it lay upon this open space in great tussocks, or mounds, while across the place itself no footmark was to be seen. It was, indeed, as though a vast white sea stretched from the house of Phélypeaux over to where the "Ours" stood.
Beneath a dull leaden canopy of cloud the wintry day was, however, coming; from the chimneys of the inn he could see the smoke, scarcely more dull and leaden than that canopy itself, rising; at the door of the inn he saw the mousquetaire standing, looking up at what should have been the heavens.
"Is all well?" he asked as he drew close to him now. "Have you seen the child?"
"All well, monsieur," the other replied, saluting as he spoke—"all well, both with child and horse. Yet, ma foi! what a day for a journey! Must monsieur, indeed, continue his?"
"Ay!" replied St. Georges, "I must. My orders are to pause no longer than necessary on the route to Paris, to report myself to the Minister of War, the Marquis de Louvois." Then turning to the mousquetaire, he asked: "What are your orders? Do you ride toward Bar to-day?"
"Since monsieur proceeds, so do I. Yet I doubt if we get even so far as Bar. Ciel! will the snow ever cease to fall?"
But in spite of the snow, in half an hour both were ready to set out. The little child, Dorine, had slept well, the patronne said, had lain snug and close with two of her own all through the night, while she had seen to its nourishment and had herself washed and fed it.
"Heaven bless you, for a true woman," St. Georges said, "Heaven bless you!"
But the woman would hear of no thanks; she reiterated again and again that she was a mother herself and had a mother's heart within her; she only wished monsieur would leave the little thing with her until he came back; she would warrant it should be well cared for until he did.
"I doubt my ever coming back this way," he said, as he ate his breakfast—a substantial one, far different from that which the bishop's servant had been able to set before him—and she ministered to his wants, "unless the future war rolls toward Burgundy. I am en route for Paris, and Heaven only knows where to afterward."