"C'est ça!" said Jean coolly.
We bade the priests good-bye, and trudged on.
Jean presently under his breath, said:
"I've got a hundred letters in, my pockets. I'm taking them from Antwerp people into Brussels. I suppose I shall have to leave them somewhere!"
He smiled, his queer high-up smile, showing all his white teeth, and I felt sure that he was planning something, I felt certain he was not going to be baulked.
At the top of the hill we got into our trap again, and off we started, travelling at a great rate.
We dashed along, and vehicles dashed past us in the opposite direction, and I had the feeling that I was going for a picnic, so bright was the day, so beautiful the surroundings, so quick the movements along the road.
"At Enghien," said Jean, turning round and addressing the other people in the carriage (by now they had all made friends with each other, and were chattering nineteen to the dozen), "at Enghien we shall get lunch!"
"But there is nowhere that one finds lunch at Enghien," protested the fat Brussels banker.
"I promise you as good a lunch as ever you have eaten, and good wine to wash it down!" was Jean's reply.