He sat down by the side of the moat, buried his face in his hands and reflected.Ten minutes after he raised his head;his resolution was made.He threw some dust over the topcoat, which he had found time to unhook from the ante-chamber and button over his ball costume, and going to Chapelle-en-Serval he knocked loudly at the door of the only inn in the place.The host opened."My friend," said Andrea, "I was coming from Montefontaine to Senlis, when my horse, which is a troublesome creature, stumbled and threw me.Imust reach Compiegne to-night, or I shall cause deep anxiety to my family.Could you let me hire a horse of you?"An inn-keeper has always a horse to let, whether it be good or bad.The host called the stable-boy, and ordered him to saddle "Whitey," then he awoke his son, a child of seven years, whom he ordered to ride before the gentleman and bring back the horse.Andrea gave the inn-keeper twenty francs, and in taking them from his pocket dropped a visiting card.This belonged to one of his friends at the Cafe de Paris, so that the innkeeper, picking it up after Andrea had left, was convinced that he had let his horse to the Count of Mauleon, 25 Rue Saint-Dominique, that being the name and address on the card."Whitey" was not a fast animal, but he kept up an easy, steady pace; in three hours and a half Andrea had traversed the nine leagues which separated him from Compiegne, and four o'clock struck as he reached the place where the coaches stop.There is an excellent tavern at Compiegne, well remembered by those who have ever been there.Andrea, who had often stayed there in his rides about Paris, recollected the Bell and Bottle inn;he turned around, saw the sign by the light of a reflected lamp, and having dismissed the child, giving him all the small coin he had about him, he began knocking at the door, very reasonably concluding that having now three or four hours before him he had best fortify himself against the fatigues of the morrow by a sound sleep and a good supper.Awaiter opened the door.
"My friend," said Andrea, "I have been dining at Saint-Jean-au-Bois, and expected to catch the coach which passes by at midnight, but like a fool I have lost my way, and have been walking for the last four hours in the forest.
Show me into one of those pretty little rooms which overlook the court, and bring me a cold fowl and a bottle of Bordeaux." The waiter had no suspicions; Andrea spoke with perfect composure, he had a cigar in his mouth, and his hands in the pocket of his top coat; his clothes were fashionably made, his chin smooth, his boots irreproachable;he looked merely as if he had stayed out very late, that was all.While the waiter was preparing his room, the hostess arose; Andrea assumed his most charming smile, and asked if he could have No.3, which he had occupied on his last stay at Compiegne.Unfortunately, No.3 was engaged by a young man who was travelling with his sister.Andrea appeared in despair, but consoled himself when the hostess assured him that No.7, prepared for him, was situated precisely the same as No.3, and while warming his feet and chatting about the last races at Chantilly, he waited until they announced his room to be ready.
Andrea had not spoken without cause of the pretty rooms looking out upon the court of the Bell Tavern, which with its triple galleries like those of a theatre, with the jessamine and clematis twining round the light columns, forms one of the prettiest entrances to an inn that you can imagine.The fowl was tender, the wine old, the fire clear and sparkling, and Andrea was surprised to find himself eating with as good an appetite as though nothing had happened.Then be went to bed and almost immediately fell into that deep sleep which is sure to visit men of twenty years of age, even when they are torn with remorse.Now, here we are obliged to own that Andrea ought to have felt remorse, but that he did not.This was the plan which had appealed to him to afford the best chance of his security.
Before daybreak he would awake, leave the inn after rigorously paying his bill, and reaching the forest, he would, under presence of making studies in painting, test the hospitality of some peasants, procure himself the dress of a woodcutter and a hatchet, casting off the lion's skin to assume that of the woodman; then, with his hands covered with dirt, his hair darkened by means of a leaden comb, his complexion embrowned with a preparation for which one of his old comrades had given him the recipe, he intended, by following the wooded districts, to reach the nearest frontier, walking by night and sleeping in the day in the forests and quarries, and only entering inhabited regions to buy a loaf from time to time.
Once past the frontier, Andrea proposed making money of his diamonds; and by uniting the proceeds to ten bank-notes he always carried about with him in case of accident, he would then find himself possessor of about 50,000 livres, which he philosophically considered as no very deplorable condition after all.Moreover, he reckoned much on the interest of the Danglars to hush up the rumor of their own misadventures.
