saw nothing of him when we reached Ouhans; and as it
was not prudent to wait for his arrival there, which might never take
place, we walked through the broiling sun in the direction of the
_auberge_, and at last saw him coming, pretending to whip his horse as
if he were in earnest about the pace. We somewhat sullenly assisted him
to turn the old carriage round, and then bade him drive as hard as he
could to Arc-sous-Cicon, still a long way off. This he said he would do
if he knew which was the way; but since he was last there, as a much
younger man, there had been a general change in the matter of roads, and
how the new ones lay he did not know. This was not cheerful
intelligence, especially as we had set our hearts upon getting back to
Pontarlier in time for the evening train, which would give us a night at
the charming _Bellevue_ at Neufchatel, instead of the poisonous coffee
and the trying odours of the _National_: the old man's instinct,
however, led him right, and we reached Arc at half-past twelve. One
obstacle to our journey on the new road promised at first to be
insurmountable, being an immense _sapin_, the largest I have seen
felled, which lay on a combination of wood-chairs straight across the
road. It had been brought down a narrow side-road through a wheat-field,
and one end occupied this road, while the other was jammed against the
wall on the opposite side of the main road; and half-a-dozen men, with
as many draught oxen, were mainly endeavouring to turn it in the right
direction. M. Paget knew how much was required to turn his own carriage,
and he calculated that the road would not be free for two or three
hours, which involved a rest for his black horse, a pipe for himself,
and, possibly, a short sleep. The oxen were lazy, and their hides
impervious; the whips were cracked in vain, and in vain were brought
more directly to bear upon the senses of the recusants; the men howled,
and rattled the chains, and re-arranged the clumsy head-gear, but all to
no purpose. The man who did most of the howling was a black Burgundian
dwarf, in a long blouse and moustaches; and he did it in so frightful a
patois, that the oxen were right in their refusal to understand. We
represented to M. Paget that it would be possible to make our way
through the wheat; but he declared himself perfectly happy where he was,
and declined to take any steps in the matter; whereupon I assumed the
command of the expedition, and led the horse