"Ah! soon there will be no more posts in France. There are no more horses. A horse worth three hundred francs brings six hundred, and fodder is high. I have been post-master, and now I keep a cook-shop. Out of thirteen hundred and thirteen post-masters, two hundred have resigned. Citizen, have you travelled under the new tariff?"
"Of the first of May,—yes."
"Twenty sous per post in a carriage, twelve sous in a cab, five sous in a wagon. Did you buy this horse at Alençon?"
"Yes."
"You have been riding all day, to-day?"
"Since daybreak."
"And yesterday?"
"And the day before."
"I see that. You came by way of Domfront and Mortain?"
"And Avranches."
"Take my advice and rest yourself, citizen. You must be tired. Your horse is."
"Horses have a right to be tired, but men have not."
The host fixed his eyes again on the traveller. He had a solemn, calm, stern face, framed in gray hair.
The innkeeper glanced along the road, which was deserted as far as he could see, and said,—
"And you are travelling alone like this?"
"I have an escort."
"Where is it?"
"My sabre and my pistols."
The innkeeper went to get a pail of water, and watered the horse, and while the horse was drinking, the host contemplated the traveller, and said to himself, "All the same, he looks like a priest."
The cavalier continued,—
"You say that they are fighting at Dol?"
"Yes. It ought to be beginning this very minute."
"Who are fighting?"
"A ci-devant against a ci-devant."
"What did you say?"
"I say that a ci-devant who is for the Republic is fighting against a ci-devant who is for the king."
"But there is no king now."
