As the
night wore on, she grew more wakeful. When they halted at a wayside
inn, which must have been minutely described to Barlasch by
Sebastian, and Desiree accepted the innkeeper's offer of a cup of
coffee by the fire while fresh horses were being put into harness,
she was wide awake and looked at Barlasch with a reckless laugh as
he shook the rime from his eyebrows. In response he frowningly
scrutinized as much of her face as he could see, and shook his head
disapprovingly.
"You laugh when there is nothing to laugh at," he said grimly.
"Foolish. It makes people wonder what is in your mind."
"There is nothing in my mind," she answered gaily.
"Then there is something in your heart, and that is worse!" said
Barlasch, which made Desiree look at him doubtfully.
They had done forty miles with the same horses, and were nearly
halfway. For some hours the road had followed the course of the
Vistula on the high tableland above the river, and would so continue
until they reached Thorn.
"You must sleep," said Barlasch curtly, when they were once more on
the road. She sat silent beside him for an hour. The horses were
fresh, and covered the ground at a great pace. Barlasch was no
driver, but he was skilful with the horses, and husbanded their
strength at every hill.
"If we go on like this, when shall we arrive?" asked Desiree
suddenly.
"By eight o'clock, if all goes well."
"And we shall find Monsieur Louis d'Arragon awaiting us at Thorn?"
Barlasch shrugged his shoulders doubtfully.
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