"You must take horse and ride along the Paris road until you overtake Monsieur de Canolles." "In that case, I lose his name." "You restore it to him." "And what am I to say to him?" "You will hand him this order, and make sure that he sets out instantly to execute it." "Is that all?" "Absolutely." "Is it necessary that he should know who I am?" "On the contrary, it is of the utmost importance that he should not know." "Ah! Nanon, do you blush for your brother?" Nanon did not reply; she was lost in thought. "How can I be sure," she began, after a moment's silence, "that you will do my errand faithfully? If you held anything sacred, I would require your oath." "You can do better than that." "How?" "Promise me a hundred more pistoles after the errand is done." "It's a bargain," said Nanon, with a shrug. "Mark the difference. I ask you for no oath, and your simple word is enough for me. We will say a hundred pistoles to the man who hands you from me Monsieur de Canolles' receipt." "Yes; but you speak of a third person; do you not expect to return yourself?" "Who knows? I have business myself which requires my presence in the neighborhood of Paris." Nanon could not restrain an exclamation of delight "Ah! that's not polite," said Cauvignac, with a laugh; "but never mind, dear sister, no malice." "Agreed; but to horse!" "Instantly; simply time to drink a stirrup cup." Cauvignac emptied the bottle of Chambertin into his glass, saluted his sister deferentially, vaulted into the saddle, and disappeared in a cloud of dust. X. The moon was just rising as the viscount, followed by the faithful Pompée, left Master Biscarros' hostelry behind him, and started off on the road to Paris. After about quarter of an hour, which the viscount devoted to his reflections, and during which they made something like a league and a half, he turned to the squire, who was gravely bobbing up and down in his saddle, three paces behind his master. "Pompée," the young man asked, "have you my right glove by any chance?" "Not that I am aware of, monsieur," said Pompée. "What are you doing to your portmanteau, pray?" "I am looking to see if it is fastened on securely, and tightening the straps, for fear the gold may rattle. The rattle of gold is a fatal thing, monsieur, and leads to unpleasant meetings, especially at night." "It's well done of you, Pompée, and I love to see that you are so prudent and careful." "Those are very natural qualities in an old soldier, Monsieur le Vicomte, and are well adapted to go with courage; however, as rashness is not courage, I confess my regret that Monsieur Richon couldn't come with us; for twenty thousand livres is a risky burden, especially in such stormy times as these." "What you say is full of common-sense, Pompée, and I agree with you in every point," the viscount replied.