"How far is it to La Rochelle?" Rupert asked.
"Thirty-five miles."
"Are there any byroads, by which we can make a detour, so as to
avoid this main road, and so come down either from the north or
south into the town?"
The landlord gave some elaborate directions.
"Good!" Rupert said. "I think we shall get through yet."
Then he broke up two of the portions of bread, and gave them to the
horses, removed the bits from their mouths, and poured a bottle of
wine down each of their throats; then bridled up and mounted,
throwing two louis to the host, and saying:
"We can trust you to be secret as to our having been here, can we
not?"
The landlord swore a great oath that he would say nothing of their
having passed, and they then rode on.
"That landlord had 'rogue' written on his face," Adele said.
"Yes, indeed," Rupert said. "I warrant me by this time he has sent
off to the nearest post. Now we will take the first road to the
north, and make for Nantes. It is getting dark now, and we must not
make more than another ten miles. These poor brutes have gone
thirty already."
Two hours' further riding at an easy pace brought them to a
village, where they were hospitably received at the house of the
maire of the place.
The start was again made early.
"We must do our best today," the marquis said. "We have a
fifty-five mile ride before us; and if the horses take us there,
their work is done, so we can press them to the utmost.
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