The next morning, at daybreak, the stranger was stretched out on the stone bench once more, opposite the inn. He seemed less engrossed by his own thoughts and watched the travellers who arrived from time to time; more than once, indeed, he started up, as if he would accost one of them; but he soon fell back on the bench, and his features assumed an expression of distress.
About noon he entered the inn and ate as sparingly as on the previous day. Then he took his head in his hands, and remained at the table as if buried in thought. He had been a long while in that posture, even the host himself not daring to disturb him, when there was a great uproar in front of the inn. A post-chaise had arrived. Three young men and a servant alighted, and the servants of the inn, as well as the host, ran out to welcome Robineau and his two travelling companions; for they were the new arrivals.
"Ah! Bless my soul! but I am stiff!" said Robineau; "it’s quite right to talk about travelling fast by post. How we did go, messieurs! The towns and villages fled behind us!"
"It would be more accurate to say that we fled before them."
"It’s fine, it’s great fun to travel fast.—Oh! my legs!—Take good care of my trunks and parcels, François!"
"Well, monsieur l’aubergiste, give us something good to eat—the best you have. I am as hungry as a hawk! What do you say, Edouard?"
"So am I. The air in this part of the country seems most invigorating."
"And you, Robineau—aren’t you in appetite?"
Robineau pulled Alfred’s coat-tail and said in an undertone:
"Pray don’t call me Robineau again, my friend; you know very well that it is no longer my name. I am Jules de la Roche-Noire."