CHAPTER XX
L'Estang's Courier
"The stranger rides a fine beast," remarked Jacques, as we entered the stables; "it has stood the long journey well. The grooming and feed of oats have made it as fresh as ever."
"Did he tell you his name?" I asked.
"No; he is a surly rascal. If he were to be in our company long, I should have to teach him good manners. Had I not better waken him? We shall not reach Poictiers to-night."
"Yes; tell him we are ready to start. I have no wish to pass the night at some village inn."
L'Estang's messenger was indeed a surly fellow. He came into the courtyard rubbing his eyes and grumbling at being disturbed. His patron might not reach the town before the morning, he said, and it would be better for us to make a two days' journey. His horse was tired, and likely to break down on the way.
"Little fear of that!" declared Jacques brusquely; "the beast has strength for a hundred miles yet. 'Tis as fine a creature as I have seen."
The courier looked at him with a gratified smile. "Yes," he said, brightening up, "'tis as good an animal as monsieur has in his stables."
He replaced the saddle and tightened the girths, but spent so much time over the business that Jacques was hard put to it to restrain his impatience. However, he was ready at last, and we all three rode down the slope, and along the road toward the wood.