could see, diagonally, the kitchen of the inn, and
through the long court-yard to the stables, which were defined in black
at the end of it. Daumartin's diligence had just started, plunging
heavily after those of the Touchards. It was past eight o'clock. Under
the enormous porch or passage, above which could be read on a long
sign, "Hotel du Lion d'Argent," stood the stablemen and porters of the
coaching-lines watching the lively start of the vehicles which deceives
so many travellers, making them believe that the horses will be kept to
that vigorous gait.

"Shall I harness up, master?" asked Pierrotin's hostler, when there was
nothing more to be seen along the road.

"It is a quarter-past eight, and I don't see any travellers," replied
Pierrotin. "Where have they poked themselves? Yes, harness up all the
same. And there are no parcels either! Twenty good Gods! a fine day
like this, and I've only four booked! A pretty state of things for a
Saturday! It is always the same when you want money! A dog's life, and a
dog's business!"

"If you had more, where would you put them? There's nothing left but the
cabriolet," said the hostler, intending to soothe Pierrotin.

"You forget the new coach!" cried Pierrotin.

"Have you really got it?" asked the man, laughing, and showing a set of
teeth as white and broad as almonds.

"You old good-for-nothing! It starts to-morrow, I tell you; and I want
at least eighteen passengers for it."

"Ha, ha! a fine affair; it'll warm up the road," said the hostler.

"A coach like that which runs to Beaumont, hey? Flaming! painted red
and gold to make Touchard burst with envy! It takes three horses! I have
bought a mate for Rougeot, and Bichette will go finely in unicorn.
Come, harness up!" added Pierrotin, glancing out towards the street,
and stuffing the tobacco into his clay pipe. "I see a lady and lad
over there with packages under their arms; they are coming to the Lion
d'Argent, for they've turned a deaf ear to the coucous. Tiens, tiens!
seems to me I know that lady for an old customer."

"You've often started empty, and arrived full," said his porter, still
by way of consolation.

"But no parcels! Twenty good Gods! What a fate!"

And Pierrotin sat down on one of the huge stone posts which protected
the walls of the building from the wheels of the coaches; but he did so
with an anxious, reflective air that was not habitual with him.

This conversation, apparently insignificant,