rture as a misfortune. She will leave a serious void in the salon
of our friends. I say this, because it is my belief, and I am not in the
habit of disguising my convictions."

"Yes," said la Peyrade, "she is certainly a very distinguished woman,
with whom in spite of her prejudice against me, I think I should have
come to an understanding. But this morning, without leaving any word as
to where she was going, she started suddenly with post-horses."

"Post-horses!" said Phellion. "I don't know whether you will agree with
me, monsieur, but I think that travelling by post is a most agreeable
method of conveyance. Certainly Louis XI., to whom we owe the
institution, had a fortunate inspiration in the matter; although, on the
other hand, his sanguinary and despotic government was not, to my humble
thinking, entirely devoid of reproach. Once only in my life have I used
that method of locomotion, and I can truly say I found it far superior,
in spite of its inferior relative rapidity, to the headlong course of
what in England are called _railways_; where speed is attained only at
the price of safety."

La Peyrade paid but little attention to Phellion's phraseology.
"Where can she have gone?"--round that idea he dug and delved in every
direction, an occupation that would have made him indifferent to a far
more interesting topic. However, once started, like the locomotive he
objected to, the great citizen went on:--

"I made that journey at the period of Madame Phellion's last
confinement. She was in Perche, with her mother, when I learned that
serious complications were feared from the milk-fever. Overcome with
terror at the danger which threatened my wife, I went instantly to the
post-office to obtain a seat in the mail-coach, but all were taken; I
found they had been engaged for more than a week. Upon that, I came to a
decision; I went to the rue Pigalle, and, for a very large sum in gold
a post-chaise and three horses were placed at my disposal, when
unfortunately the formality of a passport, with which I had neglected
to supply myself, and without which, in virtue of the decrees of the
consulate of 17 Nivose, year VII., the post agents were not permitted to
deliver horses to travellers--"

The last few words were like a flash of light to la Peyrade, and without
waiting for the end of the postal odyssey of the great citizen, he
darted away in the direction of the rue Pigalle, before Phellion, in the
middle of his sentenc