36. CHAPTER XXXVI.
Monsieur, j'ai deux mots à vous dire;
Messieurs les maréchaux, dont j'ai commandement,
Vous mandent de venir les trouver promptement,
Monsieur.
— Le Misanthrope.
That evening Morton arrived at the post house at —.
He was alone, his companion of the morning, whose route
lay in another direction, having left him long before. At the
head of the ancient staircase, the host welcomed him with a
“good night,” and ushered him into a large, low, wooden room,
where some thirty men and women were smoking, eating,
and lounging among the tables and benches. Old Germans
talked over their beer pots, and puffed at their pipes; young
ones laughed and bantered with the servant girls. A Frenchman,
en route for Laibach, gulped down his bowlful of soup,
sprang to the window when he heard the postilion's horn,
bounded back to finish his tumbler of wine, then seized his
cane, and dashed out in hot haste. A small, prim student
strutted to the window to watch him, pipe in hand, and an
amused grin on his face; then turned to roar for more beer,
and joke with the girl who brought it.
Morton sat alone, incensed, disturbed, anxious. He had
resolved to go no farther without taking measures to secure
his own safety; and a day or two, he hoped, would place
him out of the reach of danger. Meanwhile, what with his
horror at the villany which had duped him, his anger with
himself at being duped, and the consciousness that the hundred-handed
despotism of Austria might at any moment close
its gripe upon him, the condition of his mind was far from
enviable.
As he surveyed the noisy groups around him, three men
appeared at the door. Morton sipped his wine, and watched
them uneasily out of the corner of his eye. One of them
was a military officer; another was a tall man in a civil
dress; the third was the conductor of the diligence in which
Morton had travelled all day. The conductor looked towards
him significantly; the tall man inclined his head, as a token
that he understood the sign. Then approaching, hat in hand,
he said very courteously, in French, —
“Pardon, monsieur; I regret that I must give you some
little trouble. I have a carriage below; will you have the
goodness to accept a seat in it?”
“To go whither?” demanded Morton, in alarm.
“To the office of police, monsieur.”
The Austrian Briareus had clutched him at last.
