“A guide, sir! The men are all in the city on the King's corvée; Zoë could show you the way easily enough.” Zoë twitched her mother's arm nervously, as a hint not to say too much. She felt flattered and fluttered too, at the thought of guiding the strange, handsome gentleman through the forest, and already the question shot through her fancy, “What might come of it? Such things have happened in stories!” Poor Zoë! she was for a few seconds unfaithful to the memory of Antoine La Chance. But Dame Bédard settled all surmises by turning to Master Pothier, who stood stiff and upright as became a limb of the law. “Here is Master Pothier, your Honor, who knows every highway and byway in ten seigniories. He will guide your Honor to Beaumanoir.” “As easy as take a fee or enter a process, your Honor,” remarked Master Pothier, whose odd figure had several times drawn the criticizing eye of Colonel Philibert. “A fee! ah! you belong to the law, then, my good friend? I have known many advocates--” but Philibert stopped; he was too good-natured to finish his sentence. “You never saw one like me, your Honor was going to say? True, you never did. I am Master Pothier dit Robin, the poor travelling notary, at your Honor's service, ready to draw you a bond, frame an acte of convention matrimoniale, or write your last will and testament, with any notary in New France. I can, moreover, guide your Honor to Beaumanoir as easy as drink your health in a cup of Cognac.” Philibert could not but smile at the travelling notary, and thinking to himself, “too much Cognac at the end of that nose of yours, my friend!” which, indeed, looked fiery as Bardolph's, with hardly a spot for a fly to rest his foot upon without burning. “But how will you go, friend?” asked Philibert, looking down at Master Pothier's gamaches; “you don't look like a fast walker.” “Oh, your Honor,” interrupted Dame Bédard, impatiently, for Zoë had been twitching her hard to let her go. “Master Pothier can ride the old sorrel nag that stands in the stable eating his head off for want of hire. Of course your Honor will pay livery?” “Why, certainly, Madame, and glad to do so! So Master Pothier make haste, get the sorrel nag, and let us be off.” “I will be back in the snap of a pen, or in the time Dame Bédard can draw that cup of Cognac, your Honor.” “Master Pothier is quite a personage, I see,” remarked Philibert, as the old notary shuffled off to saddle the nag. “Oh, quite, your Honor. He is the sharpest notary, they say, that travels the road. When he gets people into law they never can get out. He is so clever, everybody says! Why, he assures me that even the Intendant consults him sometimes as they sit eating and drinking half the night together in the buttery at the Château!” “Really! I must be careful what I say,” replied Philibert, laughing, “or I shall get into hot water! But here he comes.”