"
As he spoke, Master Pothier came up, mounted on a raw-boned nag,
lank as the remains of a twenty-years lawsuit. Zoe, at a hint from
the Colonel, handed him a cup of Cognac, which he quaffed without
breathing, smacking his lips emphatically after it. He called out
to the landlady,--"Take care of my knapsack, dame! You had better
burn the house than lose my papers! Adieu, Zoe! study over the
marriage contract till I return, and I shall be sure of a good
dinner from your pretty hands."
They set off at a round trot. Colonel Philibert, impatient to reach
Beaumanoir, spurred on for a while, hardly noticing the absurd
figure of his guide, whose legs stuck out like a pair of compasses
beneath his tattered gown, his shaking head threatening dislodgment
to hat and wig, while his elbows churned at every jolt, making play
with the shuffling gait of his spavined and wall-eyed nag.
CHAPTER VI.
BEAUMANOIR.
They rode on in silence. A little beyond the village of Charlebourg
they suddenly turned into the forest of Beaumanoir, where a well-
beaten track, practicable both for carriages and horses, gave
indications that the resort of visitors to the Chateau was neither
small nor seldom.
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