Adventure stories; France -- History -- Henry IV, 1589-1610 -- Fiction
'Oh! that is all very well,' began Jacques; but I interrupted him,
wondering a little to myself what this meant.
'Very well and thanks.'
She dropped a courtesy, and then asked with a timid eagerness,
'Monsieur does not come from the Blaisois?'
'_Ma foi!_ No! This is hardly the way from the Orleannois; but lead
on, please, it grows late.'
She glanced up again, a suspicion in her eyes, and then without
another word went on before us. We followed her down the winding
grass-grown lane, past a few straggling cottages where not a soul was
visible, and up through the narrow street, where the sight of us drove
the few wretched inhabitants into their tumble-down houses, as if we
had the plague itself at our saddle bows. Finally we stopped before a
cottage of some pretensions to size; but decayed and worn, as all else
was in this village, which seemed but half alive. Over the entrance to
the cottage hung a faded signboard, marking that it was the local
hostelry, and to the right was a small shed, apparently used as a
workshop; and here the smith was, seated on a rough bench, gazing into
space.
He rose at our approach and made as if he would be off; but his
daughter, as the young woman turned out to be, gave him a sign to
stay, and he halted, muttering something I could not catch; and as I
looked at the gloomy figure of the man, and the musty inn, I said out
aloud, '_Morbleu!_ But it is well we have time to mend our trouble and
make Rouvres; thanks, my girl, you might have told us at once instead
of making all this fuss,' and bending from the saddle I offered our
guide a coin. She fairly snatched at it, and then, colouring up,
turned and ran into the inn. I threw another coin to the smith and
bade him set about shoeing the horse.
He shuffled this way and that, and then answered dully that he would
do the job willingly, but it would take time--two hours.
'But it will be night by then,' I expostulated, 'and I have to go on;
I cannot stay here.'
'As monsieur chooses,' answered the clod; 'but, you see, I have
nothing ready, and I am slow now; I cannot help it.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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