On a sudden the sound of footsteps approaching from
the house seemed to arouse him. Once more he looked out into the
road, as if he expected still to see the carriage of the
newly-married couple. "Poor girl! ah, poor girl!" said Monsieur
Lomaque softly to himself, turning round to ascertain who was
coming from the house.
It was only the postman with a letter in his hand, and the
post-bag crumpled up under his arm.
"Any fresh news from Paris, friend?" asked Lomaque.
"Very bad, monsieur," answered the postman. "Camille Desmoulins
has appealed to the people in the Palais Royal; there are fears
of a riot."
"Only a riot!" repeated Lomaque, sarcastically. "Oh, what a brave
Government not to be afraid of anything worse! Any letters?" he
added, hastily dropping the subject.
"None _to_ the house," said the postman, "only one _from_ it,
given me by Monsieur Trudaine. Hardly worth while," he added,
twirling the letter in his hand, "to put it into the bag, is it?"
Lomaque looked over his shoulder as he spoke, and saw that the
letter was directed to the President of the Academy of Sciences,
Paris.
"I wonder whether he accepts the place or refuses it?" thought
the land-steward, nodding to the postman, and continuing on his
way back to the house.
At the door he met Trudaine, who said to him, rather hastily,
"You are going back to Lyons with Madame Danville, I suppose?"
"This very day," answered Lomaque.
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