There was a minute or two more of rather embarrassing silence. Then the spokesman of the two strangers gave a hearty laugh.
“Allons!” he said. “Cela ne fait rien.”
And, to Roberts’s surprise, he stooped down and picked up one of his traveling-bags.
“Allons!” he cried again. “Allons!”
The man took the traveler by the arm and escorted him to the carriage, which had remained standing in the darkness. In a few seconds more the American and his baggage were inside and being rapidly driven off down the muddy road.
“Well, this is an adventure!” thought Roberts to himself. “Either I have come across some charitable stranger or else the hotel here runs a stage—I don’t know which to think!”
During the ride the two men made no further attempt to communicate with him. Roberts heard them speak to each other once or twice in a low voice, but for the most of the time the drive was made in silence.
“At any rate,” he thought, with a chuckle, “it can’t do me any harm, and I shall get out of the rain.”
Before the trip was over, however, Roberts found himself beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable because of the length of it. “Good heavens!” he muttered, “it can’t be a hotel this distance away, and for all I know, I may be going in exactly the opposite direction from the mines!”
He had already been sitting in the bumping vehicle for an hour when he made that reflection; however, he was given fully another hour to ruminate over it before the drive came to an end. Several times he made an attempt to inquire from the strangers where or how much farther he was going, but his efforts met with no success, and a “Soyez tranquille,” was all he could get, accompanied by a gentle motion of pushing him back into the seat.