Clementina

Misset looked at him with sympathy.

"You have no doubt come far," said he; "and the landlord's a laggard.

Here's something that may comfort you till he comes;" and he filled a

glass half full with red Tyrol wine from the bottle at his elbow.

The man thanked him and advanced to the table.

"It is a raw hot wine," continued Misset, "and goes better with water;"

and he filled up the glass from the water-jug. The courier reached out

his hand for it.

"I am the thirstiest man in all Germany," said he, and he took a gulp of

the wine and immediately fell to spluttering.

"Save us," said he, "but this wine is devilishly strong."

"Try some more water," said Misset, and again he filled up the glass.

The courier drank it all in a single draught, and stood winking his eyes

and shaking his head.

"That warms a man," said he. "It does one good;" and again he called for

the landlord, and this time in a strange voice. The landlord still

lagged, however, and Misset did not doubt that Wogan had found a means

to detain him. He filled up the courier's glass again, half wine, half

water. The courier sat heavily down in a chair.

"I take the liberty, gentlemen," said he. "I am no better than a

dung-heap to sit beside gentlemen. But indeed I can stand no longer.

Never have I stridden across such vile slaughter-house cattle as they

keep for travellers on the Brenner road. I have sprained my legs with

spurring 'em. Seven times," he cried with an oath,--"seven times has a

horse dropped under me to-day. There's not an inch of me unbruised,

curse me if there is! I'm a cake of mud."

Misset knew very well why the courier had suffered these falls. The

horses he had ridden had first been tired by the Prince of Baden, and

then had the last spark of fire flogged out of them by the Princess's

postillions. He merely shrugged his shoulders, however, and said, "That

looks ill for us."

The courier gazed suddenly at Misset, then at O'Toole, with a dull sort

of suspicion in his eyes.

"And which way might you gentlemen be travelling?"

"To Innspruck; we're from Trent," said Misset, boldly.

The courier turned to O'Toole.

"And you too, sir?"

O'Toole turned a stolid, uncomprehending face upon the courier.

"Pour moi, monsieur, je suis Savoyard. Monsieur qui vous parle, c'est

mon compagnon de négoce."