[148]
CHAP. XLIII.
I had now the whole south of France, from the banks of the Rhône to those of the Garonne to traverse upon my mule at my own leisure—at my own leisure—for I had left Death, the lord knows—and He only—how far behind me—"I have followed many a man thro' France, quoth he—but never at this mettlesome rate"—Still he followed,—and still I fled him—but I fled him chearfully—still he pursued—but like one who pursued his prey without hope—as he lag'd, every step he lost, softened his looks—why should I fly him at this rate?
So notwithstanding all the commissary of the post-office had said, I changed themode
