or, upon a seat, and, wrapped up
in his oldest frock-coat, with a comforter, mittens, and his office
foot-warmer, on Sunday, the 20th of March, at daybreak, he set forth
from the capital.

The movement and the novelty of the journey occupied his attention
during the first few hours. Then the horses slackened their pace, which
led to disputes between the conductor and the driver. They selected
execrable inns, and, though they were accountable for everything,
Pecuchet, through excess of prudence, slept in the same lodgings.

Next day they started again, at dawn, and the road, always the same,
stretched out, uphill, to the verge of the horizon. Yards of stones came
after each other; the ditches were full of water; the country showed
itself in wide tracts of green, monotonous and cold; clouds scudded
through the sky. From time to time there was a fall of rain. On the
third day squalls arose. The awning of the waggon, badly fastened on,
went clapping with the wind, like the sails of a ship. Pecuchet lowered
his face under his cap, and every time he opened his snuff-box it was
necessary for him, in order to protect his eyes, to turn round
completely.

During the joltings he heard all his baggage swinging behind him, and
shouted out a lot of directions. Seeing that they were useless, he
changed his tactics. He assumed an air of good-fellowship, and made a
display of civilities; in the troublesome ascents he assisted the men in
pushing on the wheels: he even went so far as to pay for the coffee and
brandy after the meals. From that time they went on more slowly; so much
so that, in the neighbourhood of Gauburge, the axletree broke, and the
waggon remained tilted over. Pecuchet immediately went to inspect the
inside of it: the sets of porcelain lay in bits. He raised his arms,
while he gnashed his teeth, and cursed these two idiots; and the
following day was lost owing to the waggon-driver getting tipsy: but he
had not the energy to complain, the cup of bitterness being full.

Bouvard had quitted Paris only on the third day, as he had to dine once
more with Barberou. He arrived in the coach-yard at the last moment;
then he woke up before the cathedral of Rouen: he had mistaken the
_diligence_.

In the evening, all the places for Caen were booked. Not knowing what to
do, he went to the Theatre of Arts, and he smiled at his neighbours,
telling them he had retired from business, and had lately purchased an
estate in the neigh