It is one hundred and fifty leagues from Versailles to the harbour of Le Havre as the crow flies, one hundred and eighty most like by road and across fields.
Gaston had twelve hours in which to cover the ground, a good horse, and the enthusiasm born of empty pockets when two and a half million livres loom temptingly at the end of the journey.
The fields, after the corn harvest, were excellent for a gallop, yielding just sufficiently to the mare's hoofs to give her a pleasant foothold, but not in any way spongy, with good stubble to give resistance and the sandy soil below to prevent the slightest jar. Riding under such conditions, in the cool hours of the morning, was distinctly pleasant.
Gaston reached Nantes soon after seven, having covered close on forty leagues of his journey without unduly tiring Belle Amie. He was a good rider and knew how to ease her, and there was Arab blood in her. She made light of the work, and enjoyed her gallops, being of the breed that never shows fatigue, own daughter to Jedran who had carried Maurice de Saxe on his famous ride from Paris to Saargemund, three hundred leagues in eighteen hours.
At Nantes, Stainville partook of a frugal breakfast, and Belle Amie had a rest and a mouthful of corn. He was again to horse within half an hour, crossing the Seine here by the newly constructed stone bridge, thence on toward Elboeuf. By ten o'clock the sun was high in the heavens and was pouring heat like molten lead down on horse and rider. Progress had become much slower. Several halts had to be made at tiny wayside inns for a cooling drink and a rub down for Belle Amie. The enjoyment had gone out of the ride. It was heavy, arduous work, beside which despatch riding, with message of life and death, was mere child's play.
But this was not a case of life and death, but of that which was far dearer to Gaston than life without it. Money! money at the end of it all! even if Belle Amie dropped on the roadside and he himself had to cover the rest of the distance on foot. An extra half million if La Monarque set sail before sunset to-day.
At Rouen, horse and rider had to part company. Belle Amie, who had covered close on a hundred leagues, and most of it in the full glare of the midday sun, wanted at least a couple of hours rest if she was to get to Le Havre at all, and this her rider was unwilling to give her. At the posting hostelry, which stands immediately at the rear of the cathedral, Stainville bargained for a fresh horse, and left Belle Amie in charge of mine host to be tended and cared for against his return, probably on the morrow.
Here, too, he partook of a light midday meal whilst the horse was being got ready for him. A good, solid Normandy mare this time, a perfect contrast to Belle Amie, short and thick in the legs, with a broad crupper, and a sleepy look in her eye. But she was a comfortable mount as Gaston soon found out, with a smooth, even canter, and though her stride was short, she got over the ground quickly enough. It was still very hot, but the roads beyond Rouen were sandy and light; the lanes were quite stoneless and shaded by tall trees; the Normandy mare settled down along them to an easy amble. She had not the spirit of Belle Amie but she made up in stolidity what she had lacked in swiftness. Gaston's first impatience at the slowness of her gait soon yielded to content, for she needed no checking, and urging being useless—since she could go no faster—the rider was soon able to let his mind rest and even to sink into semi-somnolence, trusting himself to the horse entirely.
At half-past five the towers of Notre Dame du Havre were in sight; an hour later than Gaston had dared to hope, but still far from the hour of sunset, and if he could infuse a sufficiency of enthusiasm into the commander of Le Monarque, the gallant ship could still negotiate the harbour before dusk, the tide being favourable, and be out in the open ere the first stars appeared in the heavens.
The little seaport town, whose tortuous, unpaved, and narrow streets were ankle deep in slimy mud in spite of the persistent heat and dryness of the day, appeared to Gaston like the golden city of his dreams. On his left the wide mouth of the Seine, with her lonely shore beyond, was lost in the gathering mist, which rose rapidly now after the intense heat of the day. On his right, a few isolated houses were dotted here and there, built of mud, thatched and plastered over, and with diminutive windows not more than a few inches square, because of the tax which was heavy; they testified to the squalor and misery of their inhabitants, a few families earning an uncertain livelihood with their nets. Soon along the length of the river, as it gradually widened toward its mouth, a few isolated craft came to view; fishing boats these mostly, with here and there a graceful brigantine laden with timber, and a few barges which did a precarious coasting-trade with salted fish and the meagre farm produce of the environs.
Gaston de Stainville took no heed of these, though the scene—if somewhat mournful and desolate—had a certain charm of rich colouring and hazy outline in the glow of the afternoon sun. The heat had altogether abated, and the damp which rose from the spongy soil, peculiar to the bed of the river, was already making itself felt. Gaston shivered beneath the light cloth coat which he had donned in the morning, in view of the fatigues of a hot summer's day. His eyes peered anxiously ahead and to the left of him. His mare, who had borne him stolidly for over five hours, was quite ready to give way; there was no Arab blood in her to cause her to go on until she dropped. She had settled down to a very slow jog-trot, which was supremely uncomfortable to the rider, whose tired back could scarcely endure this continuous jar. Fortunately the straggling, outlying portions of the townlet were already far behind; the little mud houses appeared quite frequently now, and from them, wizened figures came out to the doorway; women in ragged kirtles and children half-naked but for a meagre shift, gazed, wide-eyed, at the mud-bespattered cavalier and his obviously worn-out mount.
From the fine old belfry the chime had long tolled the half hour. Gaston vainly tried to spur the mare to a final effort. She had reached a stage of fatigue when blows would not have quickened her steps, whilst her rider, roused from his own somnolent weariness, was suddenly alert and eager. Goal was indeed in sight. The mud huts even had been left behind, and one or two stone houses testified to the importance of the town and the well-being of its inhabitants; the first inn—a miserable wooden construction quite uninviting even after a day's ride—had already been passed. Ahead was the church of Notre Dame, the fish market, and the residence of the governor; beyond were some low wooden buildings, suggestive of barracks, whilst the Seine, ever widening until her further shore was finally lost in the mist, now showed an ever-varying panorama of light and heavy craft upon her breast; brigantines, and fishing boats, and the new-fashioned top-sail schooners, and far ahead, majestic and sedate, one or two three-deckers of His Majesty's own navy.
Gaston strained his eyes, wondering which of these was Le Monarque!