"And good ones, look you, postillions." "Oh! don't be uneasy, young gentleman; we will see to that," replied the postillion. "Get back into your carriage and continue your nap.... You are going to Noyon?" "To la Fère." "It's all the same." Charras returned to the carriage, and so great was his fatigue that he fell asleep again before the horses were harnessed. Probably the postillion kept his word, for when Charras woke again, they had passed Noyon and day had begun to appear. Annoyed at witnessing the dawn alone, he poked Lothon till he too awoke. The sky was superb, "and jocund day,"[2] to quote Shakespeare, stood "tiptoe on the misty mountain tops," ready to descend into the plain like a luminous cloud; the leaves on the trees whispered together; the golden corn swayed gracefully; and from the midst of the fast-ripening ears the lark, daughter of day, flew up with quick-beating wing, making the air resound with her clear, joyous song. The peasants opened their doors to inhale the morning breeze, and made ready to go to work or to market, to the fields or to the town. "Diable!" exclaimed Charras. "Look at this countryside: it has not the least appearance of being in a state of revolution." "No, indeed it has not!" replied Lothon. "Do you suppose these folk know about Chardel, Mauguin and La Fayette?" "I would rather not say." "Hum!" said Charras, who fell into a train of reflection that was not exactly rose-coloured. Lothon took advantage of Charras's ponderings to resume his slumbers. They reached Chauny. The town was just as peaceful as the villages, the streets were as quiet as the fields! As a diver can feel the temperature of the water grow colder the deeper he plunges, so the farther they advanced into the provinces did they feel an ever-increasing frigidness take the place of the feverishness of Paris. Exactly the same experience happened to Charras as did to me: he reached the gates of la Fère determined to carry out his project, but filled with doubt as to how things would turn out.