ure,
stumbled and threw me. I must reach Compiegne to-night, or I shall cause
deep anxiety to my family. Could you let me hire a horse of you?"

An inn-keeper has always a horse to let, whether it be good or bad. The
host called the stable-boy, and ordered him to saddle "Whitey," then he
awoke his son, a child of seven years, whom he ordered to ride before
the gentleman and bring back the horse. Andrea gave the inn-keeper
twenty francs, and in taking them from his pocket dropped a visiting
card. This belonged to one of his friends at the Cafe de Paris, so that
the innkeeper, picking it up after Andrea had left, was convinced that
he had let his horse to the Count of Mauleon, 25 Rue Saint-Dominique,
that being the name and address on the card. "Whitey" was not a fast
animal, but he kept up an easy, steady pace; in three hours and a
half Andrea had traversed the nine leagues which separated him from
Compiegne, and four o'clock struck as he reached the place where the
coaches stop. There is an excellent tavern at Compiegne, well remembered
by those who have ever been there. Andrea, who had often stayed there
in his rides about Paris, recollected the Bell and Bottle inn; he
turned around, saw the sign by the light of a reflected lamp, and having
dismissed the child, giving him all the small coin he had about him, he
began knocking at the door, very reasonably concluding that having now
three or four hours before him he had best fortify himself against the
fatigues of the morrow by a sound sleep and a good supper. A waiter
opened the door.

"My friend," said Andrea, "I have been dining at Saint-Jean-au-Bois, and
expected to catch the coach which passes by at midnight, but like a fool
I have lost my way, and have been walking for the last four hours in the
forest. Show me into one of those pretty little rooms which overlook the
court, and bring me a cold fowl and a bottle of Bordeaux." The waiter
had no suspicions; Andrea spoke with perfect composure, he had a cigar
in his mouth, and his hands in the pocket of his top coat; his clothes
were fashionably made, his chin smooth, his boots irreproachable; he
looked merely as if he had stayed out very late, that was all. While
the waiter was preparing his room, the hostess arose; Andrea assumed
his most charming smile, and asked if he could have No. 3, which he had
occupied on his last stay at Compiegne. Unfortunately, No. 3 was engaged
by a young man who was travelling with his s