“My leg!” exclaimed Roger, opening the chaise door without ceremony and jumping out while the chaise was going at a good speed.
When next he got in Madame de Beaumanoir very civilly inquired after his cramped leg.
“Much better, thank you, madam,” replied Roger, politely. “A few steps on the ground restores the circulation at once. But madam, I foresee that whenever you tell anything to the discredit of my family, it stops the circulation in my leg as if you had tied a bandage about it. So I implore you to desist if you desire my company.”
Madame de Beaumanoir was so pleased with his effrontery that she threatened to kiss him, which frightened him extremely.
The inn they made that night was but a poor one in a small village. When they looked at the dingy and uninviting room, Michelle said to Roger,—
“I thought, Mr. Egremont, that we were to sleep often at the Sign of the Shining Stars, as you called the out-of-doors once to me. Would that not be better than this wretched place?”
“No,” replied Roger; “but wait until we get to the mountain passes. We may have to do it then.”
“And I know I shall like it,” cried Michelle.
One wretched room was shared by Berwick and Roger. Berwick, wrapping himself in his cloak, said, “This is luxury for a campaigner.”
Roger had meant to swear at the landlord next morning, but Berwick’s words shamed him out of it.