"It is not M. de Rênal," he thought, "he's far too bad a shot." The dogs ran silently at his side, the second shot apparently broke the paw of one dog, for he began to whine piteously. Julien jumped the wall of the terrace, did fifty paces under cover, and began to fly in another direction. He heard voices calling and had a distinct view of his enemy the servant firing a gun; a farmer also began to shoot away from the other side of the garden. Julien had already reached the bank of the Doubs where he dressed himself. An hour later he was a league from Verrières on the Geneva road. "If they had suspicions," thought Julien, "they will look for me on the Paris road." CHAPTER XXXI THE PLEASURES OF THE COUNTRY O rus quando ego te aspiciam?--_Horace_ "You've no doubt come to wait for the Paris mail, Monsieur," said the host of an inn where he had stopped to breakfast. "To-day or to-morrow, it matters little," said Julien. The mail arrived while he was still posing as indifferent. There were two free places. "Why! it's you my poor Falcoz," said the traveller who was coming from the Geneva side to the one who was getting in at the same time as Julien. "I thought you were settled in the outskirts of Lyons," said Falcoz, "in a delicious valley near the Rhône." "Nicely settled! I am running away." "What! you are running away? you Saint Giraud! Have you, who look so virtuous, committed some crime?" said Falcoz with a smile. "On my faith it comes to the same thing. I am running away from the abominable life which one leads in the provinces. I like the freshness of the woods and the country tranquillity, as you know. You have often accused me of being romantic. I don't want to hear politics talked as long as I live, and politics are hounding me out." "But what party do you belong to?" "To none and that's what ruins me. That's all there is to be said about my political life--I like music and painting. A good book is an event for me. I am going to be forty-four. How much longer have I got to live? Fifteen--twenty--thirty years at the outside. Well, I want the ministers in thirty years' time to be a little cleverer than those of to-day but quite as honest. The history of England serves as a mirror for our own future. There will always be a king who will try to increase his prerogative. The ambition of becoming a deputy, the fame of Mirabeau and the hundreds of thousand francs which he won for himself will always prevent the rich people in the province from going to sleep: they will call that being Liberal and loving the people. The desire of becoming a peer or a gentleman of the chamber will always win over the ultras. On the ship of state every one is anxious to take over the steering because it is well paid. Will there be never a poor little place for the simple passenger?" "Is it the last elections which are forcing you out of the province?"