By Heaven!  Here is the yellow Bodyguard Courier; spurring fast, in the ruddy evening light!  Steady, O Dandoins, stand with inscrutable indifferent face; though the yellow blockhead spurs past the Post-house; inquires to find it; and stirs the Village, all delighted with his fine livery.—­Lumbering along with its mountains of bandboxes, and Chaise behind, the Korff Berline rolls in; huge Acapulco-ship with its Cockboat, having got thus far.  The eyes of the Villagers look enlightened, as such eyes do when a coach-transit, which is an event, occurs for them.  Strolling Dragoons respectfully, so fine are the yellow liveries, bring hand to helmet; and a lady in gipsy-hat responds with a grace peculiar to her. (Declaration de la Gache in Choiseul ubi supra.) Dandoins stands with folded arms, and what look of indifference and disdainful garrison-air a man can, while the heart is like leaping out of him.  Curled disdainful moustachio; careless glance,—­which however surveys the Village-groups, and does not like them.  With his eye he bespeaks the yellow Courier.  Be quick, be quick!  Thick-headed Yellow cannot understand the eye; comes up mumbling, to ask in words:  seen of the Village!

Nor is Post-master Drouet unobservant, all this while; but steps out and steps in, with his long-flowing nightgown, in the level sunlight; prying into several things.  When a man’s faculties, at the right time, are sharpened by choler, it may lead to much.  That Lady in slouched gypsy-hat, though sitting back in the Carriage, does she not resemble some one we have seen, some time;—­at the Feast of Pikes, or elsewhere?  And this Grosse-Tete in round hat and peruke, which, looking rearward, pokes itself out from time to time, methinks there are features in it—?  Quick, Sieur Guillaume, Clerk of the Directoire, bring me a new Assignat!  Drouet scans the new Assignat; compares the Paper-money Picture with the Gross-Head in round hat there:  by Day and Night! you might say the one was an attempted Engraving of the other.  And this march of Troops; this sauntering and whispering,—­I see it!

Drouet Post-master of this Village, hot Patriot, Old Dragoon of Conde, consider, therefore, what thou wilt do.  And fast:  for behold the new Berline, expeditiously yoked, cracks whipcord, and rolls away!—­Drouet dare not, on the spur of the instant, clutch the bridles in his own two hands; Dandoins, with broadsword, might hew you off.  Our poor Nationals, not one of them here, have three hundred fusils but then no powder; besides one is not sure, only morally-certain.  Drouet, as an adroit Old-Dragoon of Conde does what is advisablest:  privily bespeaks Clerk Guillaume, Old-Dragoon of Conde he too; privily, while Clerk Guillaume is saddling two of the fleetest horses, slips over to the Townhall to whisper a word; then mounts with Clerk Guillaume; and the two bound eastward in pursuit, to see what can be done.