“Here is what I promised you. Go to the first tavern you find on the
right-hand side of the road as you enter the village. If we do not meet
you there in an hour, you are at liberty to return to Paris.”
The driver was overwhelming in his thanks; but neither Prosper nor his
friend heard them. They had already started up the new road.
The weather, which had been inclement when they set out, was now
fearful. The rain fell in torrents, and a furious wind howled dismally
through the dense woods.
The intense darkness was rendered more dreary by the occasional
glimmer of the lamps at the distant station, which seemed about to be
extinguished by every new gust of wind.
M. Verduret and Prosper had been running along the muddy road for about
five minutes, when suddenly the latter stopped and said:
“This is Raoul’s house.”
Before the gate of an isolated house stood the hack which M. Verduret
had followed. Reclining on his seat, wrapped in a thick cloak, was the
driver, who, in spite of the pouring rain, was already asleep, evidently
waiting for the person whom he had brought to this house a few minutes
ago.