In Paris, however, he was destined to meet another disappointment--slight, indeed, but calculated to increase the impatience that was growing upon him. He found, on enquiring at Mrs. Darlington's hotel, that she had left the French metropolis two days before for Italy; and, as the people of the house informed him that her departure had been somewhat sudden, he immediately settled it in his own mind that she had heard some tidings of the Delawares, and had proceeded at once to join them. Now, although when Beauchamp came to reflect upon this supposition, he found that it did not very well agree with the indifferent, comfort-loving, bonnet-and-cap sort of character of Mrs. Darlington, yet it was a favourite fancy, and he did not choose to give it up. He therefore intimated his wish that his sister would agree to pursue their way towards Italy without delay; and Miss Beauchamp--although she was really fatigued with a long journey over a road that can never have been mended since the days of _Klovigh_, as Chateaubriand calls the French king--acquiesced at once without farther question. She did it so sweetly and good humouredly, too, that it opened her brother's heart at once; and, sitting down beside her, he told her all his motives, and all his wishes, and all his hopes, in a way that defied her taking advantage of him even by a smile. In return, he gained a world of good advice, which, as it came from a woman, and related to a woman, Beauchamp wisely treasured up for service. With scarcely a day's interval, the whole party were once more upon the road; but, as the way or ways from Paris to Geneva are each and all as well beaten by English travellers as that between London and Dover, we shall not pause to itinerarize even here. At only one small town on the road shall we take the liberty of stopping, inasmuch as an accidental circumstance induced Beauchamp to stay there longer than he had at first proposed. He had chosen the road by Dijon instead of that by Macon; and, after sleeping at Dole, set out early in the morning, in hopes of reaching Geneva that night. The first stage from Dole, if we remember right, is Mont sous Vaudrey. At all events, if it be not the first it is the second; and perhaps the reader and the guide-book will excuse us if we mistake. Here, however, Beauchamp changed horses at about half-past ten, and thence rattled on through that neat little village, entered a part of the forest of Rahon, and then, after winding on up and down the wavy hills at the foot of the Jura, reached the small village of Aumont, at the distance of about five or six miles from the relay. Without stopping there, however, the postilion trotted on, and, driving through the Crozanne, paused for a moment to let his horses pant, while Beauchamp and his sister gazed out upon a wide and very beautiful scene of hill and valley, lighted up by the soft sunshine of spring, with an occasional wreath of morning mist hanging upon the brows of the mountains.