"Is it possible?" thought the discomfited postmaster. "Yes, here they come at the very moment when the guests are arriving."
Just then another horn was heard, and "Je suis peree, un pere heureux," made the welkin ring.
On every side they came, but the unlucky passenger caleche blocked up the passage. Monsieur Etienne, following the impulses of his heart, rushed past the strangers, and ran to greet the most important of his guests, the village curate and the pastor of the next market-place. But just then the bewildered little man remembered his duty, and darted back to the passengers.
There were two gentlemen in the carriage, and on the box, near the postilion, a third person, who had the air of a valet.
"The gentlemen wish to go on to the next stage?" said Etienne, without opening the door.
"No, sir," said one of the passengers, raising his dark-blue eyes to the post-house. "Your house looks inviting, and we would like a room and a cosy dinner."
Monsieur Etienne scarcely knew what reply to make to this untimely request. "You wish to dine here—here—you would—"
Down came another post-chaise, thundering on the stones, and louder than ever was the sound of "Je suis pere, un pere heureux."
Certainly, at that moment, the song was a mockery, for Monsieur Etienne was a most unhappy and distracted father.
"Gentlemen," said he, pathetically, "oblige me by going on to the next town. Indeed—"