ing cap, with a gold band; his legs were cased in high
Russia leather boots, all evident signs of the profession of the wearer,
had even his haste at supper not bespoke the fact that he was a
government courier.

"You had better make haste with the horses, Antoine, if you don't wish
the postmaster to hear of it," said he, as I entered, his mouth filled
with pie crust and vin de Beaune, as he spoke.

A lumbering peasant, with a blouse, sabots, and a striped nightcap,
replied in some unknown patois; when the courier again said--

"Well, then, take the diligence horses; I must get on at all events; they
are not so presse, I'll be bound; besides it will save the gens-d'armes
some miles of a ride if they overtake them here."

"Have we another vise of our passports here, then?" said I, addressing
the courier, "for we have already been examined at Nancy?"

"Not exactly a vise," said the courier, eyeing me most suspiciously as
he spoke, and then continuing to eat with his former voracity.

"Then, what, may I ask, have we to do with the gens-d'armes?"

"It is a search," said the courier, gruffly, and with the air of one who
desired no further questioning.

I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, and filling the large goblet
before him, said, with much respect,

"A votre bonne voyage, Monsier le Courier."

To this he at once replied, by taking off his cap and bowing politely as
he drank off the wine.

"Have we any runaway felon or a stray galerien among us?" said I,
laughingly, "that they are going to search us?"

"No, monsieur," said the courier; "but there has been a government order
to arrest a person on this road connected with the dreadful Polish plot,
that has just eclated at Paris. I passed a vidette of cavalry at Nancy,
and they will be up here in half an hour."

"A Polish plot! Why, I left Paris only two days ago, and never heard of
it."

"C'est bien possible, Monsieur? Perhaps, after all, it may only be an
affair of the police; but they have certainly arrested one prisoner at
Meurice, charged with this, as well as the attempt to rob Frascati, and
murder the croupier."

"Alas," said I, with a half-suppressed groan, "it is too true; that
infernal fellow O'Leary has ruined me, and I shall be brought back to
Paris, and only taken from prison to meet the open shame and ignominy of
a public trial."

What was to be done?--every moment was precious. I walked to the door to
conceal my agitation. All