“Come, come; that’s settled. Go, now, and get back as soon as possible.” Roland took the First Consul’s hand, meaning to kiss it; but Bonaparte drew him quickly to him. “Embrace me, my dear Roland,” he said, “and good luck to you.” Two hours later Roland was rolling along in a post-chaise on the road to Orleans. The next day, at nine in the morning, he entered Nantes, after a journey of thirty-three hours. CHAPTER XXIX. THE GENEVA DILIGENCE About the hour when Roland was entering Nantes, a diligence, heavily loaded, stopped at the inn of the Croix-d’Or, in the middle of the main street of Châtillon-sur-Seine. In those days the diligences had but two compartments, the coupé and the interior; the rotunda is an adjunct of modern times. The diligence had hardly stopped before the postilion jumped down and opened the doors. The travellers dismounted. There were seven in all, of both sexes. In the interior, three men, two women, and a child at the breast; in the coupé, a mother and her son. The three men in the interior were, one a doctor from Troyes, the second a watchmaker from Geneva, the third an architect from Bourg. The two women were a lady’s maid travelling to Paris to rejoin her mistress, and the other a wet-nurse; the child was the latter’s nursling, which she was taking back to its parents. The mother and son in the coupé were people of position; the former, about forty years of age, still preserving traces of great beauty, the latter a boy between eleven and twelve. The third place in the coupe was occupied by the conductor. Breakfast was waiting, as usual, in the dining-room; one of those breakfasts which conductors, no doubt in collusion with the landlords, never give travellers the time to eat. The woman and the nurse got out of the coach and went to a baker’s shop nearby, where each bought a hot roll and a sausage, with which they went back to the coach, settling themselves quietly to breakfast, thus saving the cost, probably too great for their means, of a meal at the hotel. The doctor, the watchmaker, the architect and the mother and son entered the inn, and, after warming themselves hastily at the large kitchen-fire, entered the dining-room and took seats at the table. The mother contented herself with a cup of coffee with cream, and some fruit. The boy, delighted to prove himself a man by his appetite at least, boldly attacked the viands. The first few moments were, as usual, employed in satisfying hunger. The watchmaker from Geneva was the first to speak. “Faith, citizen,” said he (the word citizen was still used in public places), “I tell you frankly I was not at all sorry to see daylight this morning.” “Cannot monsieur sleep in a coach?” asked the doctor. “Oh, yes, sir,” replied the compatriot of Jean-Jacques; “on the contrary, I usually sleep straight through the night. But anxiety was stronger than fatigue this time.” “Were you afraid of upsetting?” asked the architect.