“Certainly,” said I, “the plot is thickening; but for that unlucky mistake she might in all probability have waited here for us.  Amiens is only two leagues now, so our drive will not be long, and before six o’clock we shall all be laughing over the matter as a very good joke.”

On we rattled, and as the road became less frequented, and the shadows lengthened, I could not but wonder at the strange situations which the adventurous character of my life had so often involved me in.  Meanwhile, my fair friend’s spirits became more and more depressed, and it was not without the greatest difficulty I was enabled to support her courage.  I assured her, and not altogether without reason, that though so often in my eventful career accidents were occurring which rendered it dubious and difficult to reach the goal I aimed at, yet the results had so often been more pleasant than I could have anticipated, that I always felt a kind of involuntary satisfaction at some apparent obstacle to my path, setting it down as some especial means of fortune, to heighten the pleasure awaiting me; “and now,” added I, “even here, perhaps, in this very mistake of our road—­the sentiments I have heard—­the feelings I have given utterance to—­” What I was about to say, heaven knows—­perhaps nothing less than a downright proposal was coming; but at that critical moment a gen-d’arme rode up to the side of our waggon, and surveyed us with the peculiarly significant scowl his order is gifted with.  After trotting alongside for a few seconds he ordered the driver to halt, and, turning abruptly to us, demanded our passports.  Now our passports were, at that precise moment, peaceably reposing in the side pocket of Mrs. Bingham’s carriage; I therefore explained to the gen-d’arme how we were circumstanced, and added, that on arriving at Amiens the passport should be produced.  To this he replied that all might be perfectly true, but he did not believe a word of it—­that he had received an order for the apprehension of two English persons travelling that road—­and that he should accordingly request our company back to Chantraine, the commissionaire of which place was his officer.

“But why not take us to Amiens,” said I; “particularly when I tell you that we can then show our passports?”

“I belong to the Chantraine district,” was the laconic answer; and like the gentleman who could not weep at the sermon because he belonged to another parish, this specimen of a French Dogberry would not hear reason except in his own “commune.”

No arguments which I could think of had any effect upon him, and amid a volley of entreaty and imprecation, both equally vain, we saw ourselves turn back upon the road to Amiens, and set out at a round trot to Chantraine, on the road to Calais.