Still our journey had been a passing swift one. We had
left Paris on a Monday, the fourth of June--I have good cause to remember,
since on that day I entered both upon my thirty-second year and my altered
fortunes; on the evening of Wednesday we reached Blois, having covered a
distance of forty-three leagues in less than three days.
Bidding Michelot carry my valise to the hostelry of the Vigne d'Or, and
there await my coming, I called to Abdon to attend me, and rode on, jaded
and travel-stained though I was, to Canaples, realising fully that there
was no time to lose.
Old Guilbert, who came in answer to my knock at the door of the ch?teau,
looked askance when he beheld me, and when I bade him carry my compliments
to the Chevalier, with the message that I desired immediate speech of him
on a matter of the gravest moment, he shook his grey head and protested
that it would be futile to obey me. Yet, in the end, when I had insisted,
he went upon my errand, but only to return with a disturbed countenance, to
tell me that the Chevalier refused to see me.
"But I must speak to him, Guilbert," I exclaimed, setting foot upon the top
step.
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