"
To the inhabitants of Sairmeuse and its environs, "the city" meant
the country town of the _arrondissement_, Montaignac, a charming
sub-prefecture of eight thousand souls, about four leagues distant.
"And was it at Montaignac that you bought the horse you were riding just
now?"
"I did not buy it; it was loaned to me."
This was such a strange assertion that his listeners could not repress a
smile. He did not seem to notice it, however.
"It was loaned me," he continued, "in order that I might bring some
great news here the quicker."
Fear resumed possession of the peasantry.
"Is the enemy in the city?" anxiously inquired some of the more timid.
"Yes; but not the enemy you refer to. This is the former lord of the
manor, the Duc de Sairmeuse."
"Ah! they said he was dead."
"They were mistaken."
"Have you seen him?"
"No, I have not seen him, but someone else has seen him for me, and has
spoken to him. And this someone is Monsieur Laugeron, the proprietor of
the Hotel de France at Montaignac. I was passing the house this morning,
when he called me.
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