in the inn. Loiseau had a joke for the occasion: "They will repeople the land."
Mr. Carré-Lamadon had a serious word: "They try to make amends."
But thijy did not find the driver. Finally, they discovered him in a café of the village, sitting at table fraternally with the officer of ordinance. The Count called out to him:
"Were ycu not ordered to be ready at eight o'clock?"
"Well, yes; but another order has been given me since."
"By whom?"
"Faith! the Prussian commander."
"What was it?"
"Not to harness at all."
"Why?"
"I know nothing about it. Go and ask him. They tell me not to harness, and I don't harness. That's all."
"Did he give you the order himself?"
"No, sir, the innkeeper gave the order for him."
"When was that?"
"Last evening, as I was going to bed."
The three men returned, much disturbed. They asked for Mr. Follenvie, but the servant answered that that gentleman, because of his asthma, never rose before ten o'clock. And he had given strict orders not to be wakened before that, except in case of fire.
They wished to see the officer, but that was absolutely impossible, since, while he lodged at the inn, Mr. Follenvie alone was authorized to speak to him upon civil affairs. So they waited. The women went up to their rooms again and occupied themselves with futile tasks.
Cornudet installed himself near the great chimney in the kitchen, where there was a good fire burning. He ordered one of the little tables to be brought from the café, then a can of beer, he then drew out his pipe, which plays among democrats a part almost equal to his own, because in serving Cornudet it was serving its country. It was a superb pipe, an admirably colored meerschaum, as black as the teeth of its master, but perfumed, curved, glistening, easy to the hand, completing his physiognomy. And he remained motionless, his eyes as much fixed upon the flame of the fire as upon his favorite tipple and its frothy crown; and each time that he drank, he passed his long, thin fingers through his scanty, gray hair, with an air of satisfaction, after which he sucked in his mustache fringed with foam.
Loiseau, under the pretext of stretching his legs, went to place some wine among the retailers of the country. The Count and the manufacturer began to talk politics. They could foresee the future of France. One of them believed in an Orléans, the other in some unknown savior for the country, a hero who would reveal himself when all were in despair: a Guesclin, or a Joan of Arc, perhaps, or would it be another Napoleon First? Ah! if the Prince Imperial were not so young!
Cornudet listened to them and smiled like one who holds the word of destiny. His pipe perfumed the kitchen.
As ten o'clock struck, Mr. Follenvie appeared. They asked him hurried questions; but he could only repeat two
