t sort of
merchandise are you carrying off with you there?" asked he,
scrutinising the wounded man.

"My superannuated Conrad," replied the doctor; "the stupid knave found
himself in a village yesterday and took it into his head to engage in
the conversion of a Camisard, who in the true rebel fashion began to
deal out blows, my decrepid enthusiast would let neither his king, nor
his Lord God be outraged and on that account is so bedecked, that our
Phylax at home will scarcely recognise him again." "Look," said the
Colonel, "the poor cripple trembles so, that he cannot attain the high
coach-box. He does not appear accustomed to such a place. Help him a
little, reverend priest."

The sturdy vicar of St. Sulpice, who had pressed forward, helped up the
old man with arms and shoulders. "Accustomed, or not accustomed!" cried
Vila, vexedly, "he may thank heaven, that I take him with me at all. A
knave, who at his years still addicts himself to pugilism, is good for
nothing in my peaceable house. Times, indeed, seem strange enough, so
that the rabble will soon, perhaps, assert their pretensions to ride
with me in my carriage."

"You would have room enough," said the Colonel, taking leave of the
doctor, who had already seated himself at his ease.--

"Now, drive on!" said Vila, "and not too fast, particularly over the
stones, for all my sides, and my head into the bargain, are as if they
were crushed, and take care that that old spectre does not perchance
tumble from the box,--Adieu, reverend priest!"--The coach drove down
the street and out through the gate.

The high road was filled with soldiers and militia, the coach was
forced to stop in many places to let the troops go by. At length, when
they had taken another road towards the mountains, the journey could be
continued without interruption. The doctor was very uneasy, and looked
round on all sides, muttered to himself, and was alternately moved, and
vexed. At last, when the country became rather solitary he ordered the
carriage to stop, descended and assisted the wounded Conrad, as he had
called him in the town, himself, from the coach box. "My poor, old
friend!" exclaimed he embracing him with the greatest emotion: "How
fares it with you? do you feel fatigued? come now inside here with me,
and pardon all that I have been forced to do for your safety."

"I am tolerably well, my kind, faithful friend," answered the Lord of
Beauvais: "but render me one more loving serv