The varied sights and sounds however of the road—­many of them new to us—­kept us from dwelling over much on this.  Our eyes were young, and whether it was a pretty girl lingering behind a troop of gipsies, or a pair of strollers from Valencia —­JONGLEURS they still called themselves—­singing in the old dialect of Provence, or a Norman horse-dealer with his string of cattle tied head and tail, or the Puy de Dome to the eastward over the Auvergne hills, or a tattered old soldier wounded in the wars—­fighting for either side, according as their lordships inclined—­we were pleased with all.

Yet we never forgot our errand.  We never I think rose in the morning—­too often stiff and sore—­without thinking “To-day or to-morrow or the next day—­” as the case might be—­“we shall make all right for Kit!” For Kit!  Perhaps it was the purest enthusiasm we were ever to feel, the least selfish aim we were ever to pursue.  For Kit!

Meanwhile we met few travellers of rank on the road.  Half the nobility of France were still in Paris enjoying the festivities which were being held to mark the royal marriage.  We obtained horses where we needed them without difficulty.  And though we had heard much of the dangers of the way, infested as it was said to be by disbanded troopers, we were not once stopped or annoyed.

But it is not my intention to chronicle all the events of this my first journey, though I dwell on them with pleasure; or to say what I thought of the towns, all new and strange to me, through which we passed.  Enough that we went by way of Limoges, Chateauroux and Orleans, and that at Chateauroux we learned the failure of one hope we had formed.  We had thought that Bezers when joined there by his troopers would not be able to get relays; and that on this account we might by travelling post overtake him; and possibly slip by him between that place and Paris.  But we learned at Chateauroux that his troop had received fresh orders to go to Orleans and await him there; the result being that he was able to push forward with relays so far.  He was evidently in hot haste.  For leaving there with his horses fresh he passed through Angerville, forty miles short of Paris, at noon, whereas we reached it on the evening of the same day—­ the sixth after leaving Caylus.

We rode into the yard of the inn—­a large place, seeming larger in the dusk—­so tired that we could scarcely slip from our saddles.  Jean, our servant, took the four horses, and led them across to the stables, the poor beasts hanging their heads, and following meekly.  We stood a moment stamping our feet, and stretching our legs.  The place seemed in a bustle, the clatter of pans and dishes proceeding from the windows over the entrance, with a glow of light and the sound of feet hurrying in the passages.  There were men too, half-a-dozen or so standing at the doors of the stables, while others leaned from the windows.  One or two lanthorns just kindled glimmered here and there in the semi-darkness; and in a corner two smiths were shoeing a horse.