This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1892. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... "How long will it take me to go out to St. Germain's?" inquired the stranger to town. "A couple of hours at the most, on a good post-horse, which you may hire," replied the tavern-keeper. "That will suit me," said our hero, not forgetting Mdlle. du Tremblay. "I can be back for Vespers," CHAPTER XI. ONE CHANNEL OF INFORMATION IS CHOKED. It was about two in the afternoon, and the July sun was heating white hot the sharp pavingstones which have always been the terror of foot passengers and the delight of farriers in the good town of St. Germain. Before the front gateway of the old Castle, paced two Musketeers, with the arm on their shoulder which gave their regiment its name, while an other pair, off duty, were sitting on the edge of the ditch, with their legs swinging in the hollow, and their swords dangling between them. Other times, other names--we have not now the names in the corps of Du Verger, De Belliere, ect., but Gace and Hericourt, those on duty, and Champagnac and Escrivaux, for those idlirfg. In the Spanish fashion, the Queen Maria Theresa was taking her siesta and the court followed her example. So the sentinels were yawning fit to dislocate their jaws, and their comrades in the moat were gaping, when one of the latter had just the strength left to nudge the other and say: "Escrivaux, look over yonder, towards the Tennis-court-- what do you call that queer figure?" "It is a real, live Breton, fresh from his country," returned the other, glancing in the direction indicated. "A strapping fellow, by the mark But he must be infernally green not to be burnt to a crisp in venturing out on the royal highway in a heat equal to roasting an egg, twixt my cassock and my shirt." It was our friend Joel, entering the town after leaving the nag which had brought hi...