“It is a long way,” said he; “You will find it a difficult matter to arrive there without a guide. Besides, Monsieur seems unaccustomed to the season’s severity, and ’tis possible that unable to sustain the excessive cold.⁠ ⁠…”

“What use is there to present me with all these objections?” said I, impatiently interrupting him; “I have no other resource: I run still greater risk of perishing with cold by passing the night in the forest.”

“Passing the night in the forest?” he replied; “Oh! by St. Denis! We are not in quite so bad a plight as that comes to yet. If I am not mistaken, we are scarcely five minutes walk from the cottage of my old friend, Baptiste. He is a woodcutter, and a very honest fellow. I doubt not but he will shelter you for the night with pleasure. In the meantime I can take the saddle-horse, ride to Strasbourg, and be back with proper people to mend your carriage by break of day.”

“And in the name of God,” said I, “how could you leave me so long in suspense? Why did you not tell me of this cottage sooner? What excessive stupidity!”

“I thought that perhaps Monsieur would not deign to accept.⁠ ⁠…”

“Absurd! Come, come! Say no more, but conduct us without delay to the woodman’s cottage.”

He obeyed, and we moved onwards: the horses contrived with some difficulty to drag the shattered vehicle after us. My servant was become almost speechless, and I began to feel the effects of the cold myself, before we reached the wished-for cottage. It was a small but neat building: as we drew near it, I rejoiced at observing through the window the blaze of a comfortable fire. Our conductor knocked at the door: it was some time before anyone answered; the people within seemed in doubt whether we should be admitted.