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‘That horse is very much fatigued.’
The poor beast was, in fact, going at a walk.
‘Are you going to Arras?’ added the road-mender.
‘ Ye s .’
‘If you go on at that rate you will not arrive very early.’
He stopped his horse, and asked the laborer:—
‘How far is it from here to Arras?’
‘Nearly seven good leagues.’
‘How is that? the posting guide only says five leagues and
a quarter.’
‘Ah!’ returned the road-mender, ‘so you don’t know that
the road is under repair? You will find it barred a quarter of
an hour further on; there is no way to proceed further.’
‘Really?’
‘You will take the road on the left, leading to Carency;
you will cross the river; when you reach Camblin, you will
turn to the right; that is the road to Mont-Saint-Eloy which
leads to Arras.’
‘But it is night, and I shall lose my way.’
‘You do not belong in these parts?’
‘No.’
‘And, besides, it is all cross-roads; stop! sir,’ resumed the
road-mender; ‘shall I give you a piece of advice? your horse
is tired; return to Tinques; there is a good inn there; sleep
there; you can reach Arras to-morrow.’
‘I must be there this evening.’
‘That is different; but go to the inn all the same, and get
an extra horse; the stable-boy will guide you through the
cross-roads.’