at the door of the Hotel du Palais-Royal had reason to fear the
state of mind in which the always excitable papal town might be
at that time; for just before reaching Orgon, at a spot where
three crossroads stretched out before the traveller--one leading
to Nimes, the second to Carpentras, the third to Avignon--the
postilion had stopped his horses, and, turning round, asked:

"Will the citizens go by way of Avignon or Carpentras?"

"Which of the two roads is the shorter?" asked the elder of the
two travellers in a harsh, strident voice. Though visibly the
elder, he was scarcely thirty years of age.

"Oh, the road to Avignon, citizen, by a good four miles at least."

"Then," he had replied, "go by way of Avignon."

And the carriage had started again at a gallop, which proclaimed
that the citizen travellers, as the postilion called them, although
the title of Monsieur was beginning to reappear in conversation,
paid a fee of at least thirty sous.

The same desire to lose no time manifested itself at the hotel
entrance. There, as on the road, it was the elder of the two
travellers who spoke. He asked if they could dine at once, and the
way this demand was made indicated that he was ready to overlook
many gastronomical exigencies provided that the repast in question
be promptly served.

"Citizens," replied the landlord, who, at the sound of carriage