he Oise,"
replied Monsieur Leger, "and sends out five coaches. He is the bourgeois
of Beaumont, where he keeps a hotel, at which all the diligences stop,
and he has a wife and daughter who are not a bad help to him."

An old man of seventy here came out of the hotel and joined the group of
travellers who were waiting to get into the coach.

"Come along, Papa Reybert," said Leger, "we are only waiting now for
your great man."

"Here he comes," said the steward of Presles, pointing to Joseph Bridau.

Neither Georges nor Oscar recognized the illustrious artist, for his
face had the worn and haggard lines that were now famous, and his
bearing was that which is given by success. The ribbon of the Legion
of honor adorned his black coat, and the rest of his dress, which was
extremely elegant, seemed to denote an expedition to some rural fete.

At this moment a clerk, with a paper in his hand, came out of the office
(which was now in the former kitchen of the Lion d'Argent), and stood
before the empty coupe.

"Monsieur and Madame de Canalis, three places," he said. Then, moving
to the door of the interieur, he named, consecutively, "Monsieur
Bellejambe, two places; Monsieur de Reybert, three places;
Monsieur--your name, if you please?" he said to Georges.

"Georges Marest," said the fallen man, in a low voice.

The clerk then moved to the rotunde, before which were grouped a number
of nurses, country-people, and petty shopkeepers, who were bidding each
other adieu. Then, after bundling in the six passengers, he called
to four young men who mounted to the imperial; after which he cried:
"Start!" Pierrotin got up beside his driver, a young man in a blouse,
who called out: "Pull!" to his animals, and the vehicle, drawn by four
horses brought at Roye, mounted the rise of the faubourg Saint-Denis at
a slow trot.

But no sooner had it got above Saint-Laurent than it raced like a
mail-cart to Saint-Denis, which it reached in forty minutes. No stop
was made at the cheese-cake inn, and the coach took the road through the
valley of Montmorency.

It was at the turn into this road that Georges broke the silence which
the travellers had so far maintained while observing each other.

"We go a little faster than we did fifteen years ago, hey, Pere Leger?"
he said, pulling out a silver watch.

"Persons are usually good enough to call me Monsieur Leger," said the
millionaire.

"Why, here's our blagueur of the famous journey to P