"Whither will your highness go now?" asked the footman; and, by the tone of the inquiry, Olympia felt that her menials were rapidly losing all respect for a "highness" that could no longer command entrance into a public inn.
"Take a by-way to the next village, and stop at the first peasant's hut on the road."
The coachman was growing surly, and the poor, worn-out horses were so stiff that they could barely travel any longer. The village, however, was only a few miles off, so that they were not more than an hour in reaching a miserable hovel, at the door of which was a man in the superlative degree of astonishment. He, at least, had never heard of Louvois and Louvois's orders, so that, for the promise of a gold-piece, he was easily induced to receive the desponding party. But his only bed was of straw, and he feared their excellencies would not be satisfied with his fare.
"My friend," said Olympia, "to an exhausted traveller a litter of straw is as welcome as a bed of down;" and, with a sigh of relief, she took the arm of her son, and entered the hut.
"Are you married?" asked she, taking her seat on a wooden stool, near the chimney.
"Yes; and here is my wife," said he, as a young woman, blushing and courtesying, came forward to welcome her distinguished visitors.
"Have you a wagon and horses?" continued the countess.
"A wagon, your excellency, but no horses: we have two sturdy oxen, instead."
"Would you like to earn enough money to-night to buy yourself a handsome team?"
"Yes, indeed, we would," cried husband and wife simultaneously.