. Of course your Honor will pay livery?"

"Why, certainly, Madame, and glad to do so! So Master Pothier make
haste, get the sorrel nag, and let us be off."

"I will be back in the snap of a pen, or in the time Dame Bedard can
draw that cup of Cognac, your Honor."

"Master Pothier is quite a personage, I see," remarked Philibert, as the
old notary shuffled off to saddle the nag.

"Oh, quite, your Honor. He is the sharpest notary, they say, that
travels the road. When he gets people into law they never can get
out. He is so clever, everybody says! Why, he assures me that even the
Intendant consults him sometimes as they sit eating and drinking half
the night together in the buttery at the Chateau!"

"Really! I must be careful what I say," replied Philibert, laughing, "or
I shall get into hot water! But here he comes."

As he spoke, Master Pothier came up, mounted on a raw-boned nag, lank as
the remains of a twenty-years lawsuit. Zoe, at a hint from the Colonel,
handed him a cup of Cognac, which he quaffed without breathing, smacking
his lips emphatically after it. He called out to the landlady,--"Take
care of my knapsack, dame! You had better burn the house than lose my
papers! Adieu, Zoe! study over the marriage contract till I return, and
I shall be sure of a good dinner from your pretty hands."

They set off at a round trot. Colonel Philibert, impatient to reach
Beaumanoir, spurred on for a while, hardly noticing the absurd figure
of his guide, whose legs stuck out like a pair of compasses beneath his
tattered gown, his shaking head threatening dislodgment to hat and wig,
while his elbows churned at every jolt, making play with the shuffling
gait of his spavined and wall-eyed nag.

CHAPTER VI. BEAUMANOIR.

They rode on in silence. A little beyond the village of Charlebourg
they suddenly turned into the forest of Beaumanoir, where a well-beaten
track, practicable both for carriages and horses, gave indications that
the resort of visitors to the Chateau was neither small nor seldom.

The sun's rays scarcely penetrated the sea of verdure overhead. The
ground was thickly strewn with leaves, the memorials of past summers;
and the dark green pines breathed out a resinous odor, fresh and
invigorating to the passing rider.

Colonel Philibert, while his thoughts were for the most part fixed on
the public dangers which led to this hasty visit of his to the Chateau
of Beaumanoir, had still an eye for the beauty