The innkeeper got horses for us, and we started for Paris in a ramshackle chaise. Jacques Haret watched our departure with the greatest interest and entirely at his ease.
When I was stepping into the chaise, I called out to him, as he stood on the grass, in the shadowy light:
“I have not time now to give you a good beating, Jacques Haret. But when next we meet, I promise it to you, and will let nothing interfere with my engagement.”
“Thanks,” replied Jacques, “I have been promised not less than a million of beatings and have not yet got the first one. Adieu.”
As we jolted along through the May night, all sorts 345 of agitating thoughts poured into my mind about Francezka. She was at that moment, probably, in a heaven of her own making; for, be it observed, I doubted not in the least that Jacques Haret knew what he was talking about. I was somewhat surprised that he knew in advance of Gaston’s arrival, but that was easily accounted for. Gaston would not travel incognito, and the news must have flown in advance of him.
Count Saxe, lying back in his corner of the chaise, talked of Gaston, of his manliness, his courage, his charm; and of Francezka, whom he could not praise enough. I saw that a cloud had passed from his life with Gaston’s return. He told me that Francezka’s face haunted him, and the absence of any reproach on her part for the imprudence which led to Gaston’s capture went like a poniard to his heart. We reached the Luxembourg before midnight, and were abroad by daylight. I, myself, went to the café of the Green Basket, where news was to be gathered, and found that wild rumors were afloat concerning Gaston Cheverny’s return. Within the next two days we got positive confirmation of it, and, also, a letter from Francezka. It was written in a trembling hand, unlike her usual firm, clear writing. It ran thus:
Count Saxe and dear, faithful Babache:
My best beloved has returned to me. Come and rejoice with me.
Francezka Cheverny.
That was all; none of her other names and titles, 346 scarce one superfluous word—but a letter written in the very ecstasy and palpitation of joy.
It took Count Saxe not an hour to fix a day for our departure for Capello, and I wrote a letter telling Francezka when we should arrive; and trying to tell her how deep was my joy in her joy.
Within a week we rode for Brabant—only myself and Beauvais with Count Saxe—and traveled leisurely in the pleasant spring weather.