Gustave leaned down to me, and spoke in a low impressive tone:

“Gilbert,” said he, “I’ve had a blow. The day after I got to Paris I heard from Lady Cynthia. She’s going to be married to a countryman of yours.”

Gustave looked very doleful. I murmured condolence, though in truth I cared, just then, not a straw about the matter.

“So,” he continued, “I seized the first opportunity for a little change.”

There was a pause. Gustave’s mournful eye ranged over the landscape. Then he said, in a patient, sorrowful voice:

“You said the duchess was at home?”

“Yes, she’s at home now.”

“Ah! I ask again, because as I passed the inn on the way between here and Pontorson I saw in the courtyard——”

“Yes, yes, what?” cried I in sudden eagerness.

“What’s the matter, man? I saw a carriage with some luggage on it, and it looked like the duke’s, and—— Hallo! Gilbert, where are you going?”

“I can’t wait, I can’t wait!” I called, already three or four yards away.

“But I haven’t heard how you got your arm——”

“I can’t tell you now. I can’t wait!”

My lethargy had vanished; I was hot to be on my way again.

“Is the man mad?” he cried; and he put his horse to a quick walk to keep up with me.