"I will take it."
"Climb up."
Nevertheless, before setting out, the coachman cast a glance at the traveller's shabby dress, at the diminutive size of his bundle, and made him pay his fare.
"Are you going as far as Lagny?" demanded the coachman.
"Yes," said the man.
The traveller paid to Lagny.
They started.
When they had passed the barrier, the coachman tried to enter into conversation, but the traveller only replied in monosyllables.
The coachman took to whistling and swearing at his horses.
The coachman wrapped himself up in his cloak.
It was cold. The man did not appear to be thinking of that.
Thus they passed Gournay and Neuilly-sur-Marne.
Towards six o'clock in the evening they reached Chelles.
The coachman drew up in front of the carters' inn installed in the ancient buildings of the Royal Abbey, to give his horses a breathing spell.
"I get down here," said the man.
He took his bundle and his cudgel and jumped down from the vehicle.
An instant later he had disappeared.
He did not enter the inn.
When the coach set out for Lagny a few minutes later, it did not encounter him in the principal street of Chelles.
The coachman turned to the inside travellers.