“And how far is it from Turin to Fenestrella?” continued Charney.
“By the Giaveno and Avigliano road, not more than seven leagues.”
“What space of time is necessary for the journey?”
“Four or five hours, at the least: for at this moment the roads are obstructed by troops, baggage-waggons, and the equipages of those who are hastening to the approaching festival. The road that winds through the valleys by the riverside is certainly the longest, but in the end would probably cause less delay.”
“And do you think it possible,” resumed Charney, “to procure a messenger for me who would reach Turin this very night?”
“My daughter would try to find a trustworthy person.”
“And you say that General Bonaparte—that the First Consul——”
“I said the Emperor,” gravely interrupted Girardi.
“The Emperor, then—you say that the Emperor is at Turin?” resumed Charney, as if gathering courage for some strong measure. “I will address a memorial, then, to the Emperor.” And the Count dwelt upon the latter word, as if to accustom himself to the new road he had determined to follow.