"
While each soldier opened his compasses, as the commandant was wont to
say, the miserable vehicle which was then used as the mail-coach drew
up before the inn of the Trois Maures, in the middle of the main
street of Alencon. The sound of the wheels brought the landlord to the
door. No one in Alencon could have expected the arrival of the
mail-coach at the Trois Maures, for the murderous attack upon the coach
at Mortagne was already known, and so many people followed it along the
street that the two women, anxious to escape the curiosity of the
crowd, ran quickly into the kitchen, which forms the inevitable
antechamber to all Western inns. The landlord was about to follow
them, after examining the coach, when the postilion caught him by the
arm.
"Attention, citizen Brutus," he said; "there's an escort of the Blues
behind us; but it is I who bring you these female citizens; they'll
pay like /ci-devant/ princesses, therefore--"
"Therefore, we'll drink a glass of wine together presently, my lad,"
said the landlord.
After glancing about the kitchen, blackened with smoke, and noticing a
table bloody from raw meat, Mademoiselle de Verneuil flew into the
next room with the celerity of a bird; for she shuddered at the sight
and smell of the place, and feared the inquisitive eyes of a dirty
/chef/, and a fat little woman who examined her attentively.
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