* * * * *
The events of the day had excited such violent emotions in
Mademoiselle de Verneuil's whole being that she lay back almost
fainting in the carriage, after giving the order to drive to Fougeres.
Francine was as silent as her mistress. The postilion, dreading some
new disaster, made all the haste he could to reach the high-road, and
was soon on the summit of La Pelerine. Through the thick white mists
of morning Marie de Verneuil crossed the broad and beautiful valley of
Couesnon (where this history began) scarcely able to distinguish the
slaty rock on which the town of Fougeres stands from the slopes of La
Pelerine. They were still eight miles from it. Shivering with cold
herself, Mademoiselle de Verneuil recollected the poor soldier behind
the carriage, and insisted, against his remonstrances, in taking him
into the carriage beside Francine. The sight of Fougeres drew her for
a time out of her reflections. The sentinels stationed at the Porte
Saint-Leonard refused to allow ingress to the strangers, and she was
therefore obliged to exhibit the ministerial order. This at once gave
her safety in entering the town, but the postilion could find no other
place for her to stop at than the Poste inn.
"Madame," said the Blue whose life she had saved. "If you ever want a
sabre to deal some special blow, my life is yours.
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