“Saved!” muttered the landlord exultingly.
“Yes, yes, my friend, saved,” repeated M. Gombard with an air of cool indifference which was nothing short of heroic; “but I am just thinking whether, as I have not been able to start this afternoon, I am not losing my time in starting at all. It might be wiser to— But, no; I had better go. You say the horses are good?”
“The best in Cabicol.”
“And I can count upon them?”
“I have the word of a noble woman for that.”
“Ha! a woman! Who may she be?”
“The mistress of that house—Mlle. Bobert.”
The landlord pronounced these words with an emphasis that might have been dispensed with, as far as regarded the effect of the announcement on M. Gombard.
“Mlle. Bobert!” he repeated in amazement.
“Yes, monsieur. She is young, but she has the mind of a man and the heart of a mother. When every