"Good! Here is the money, and go quick, because I am in a hurry."
"I am in a hurry to go too. The roads will not get any better, and the mountain passes of Oliolles are not easy to ride over, even in good weather."
In less than a quarter of an hour, the baroness sat in the coach. The innkeeper stood at the door, and, as the horses started, he whispered to the coachman: "Take care of yourself, old fellow. You know you have every reason to be prudent."
"I will be so," replied Jacob, as he whipped the horses and drove off.
In the meantime, the storm continued with unabated vigor, tearing up trees, rolling the waves mountains high, and sometimes shaking the heavy coach as if it had been a feather. The horses seemed to care as little for the weather as the coachman. Madame Danglars, however, became terribly excited, and, sobbing bitterly, cowered in a corner of the carriage. Around about her, as within her, all was dark. She still thought she heard the rattling of Benedetto's chains in the roar and fury of the storm—she thought she could distinguish the soft voice of Benedetto. Suddenly a sharp jolt was felt, the coachman uttered an oath, and Madame Danglars sank in a semi-unconscious condition against the cushions of the coach.
When she recovered herself she became aware that one of the horses had stumbled; the coachman was still swearing, and tried to raise the animal up. Suddenly he came to the carriage door, and grumblingly said:
"Madame, I must give you your money back. We will not be able to reach Beaussuet."
The storm whistled and roared with bitter fury. Madame Danglars looked anxiously at the man, and in a hollow voice asked:
"Where are we?"
"The devil only knows. These passes look all alike."