Once over this there was no longer any occasion for haste.

There was no fear of their connection with the struggle in the west being suspected, and they had now only to face the troubles consequent on travelling unprovided with proper papers.
Late that evening they entered the town of Artenay, on the main road from Paris to Orleans, coming down upon it from the north side.

Here they entered a quiet inn.

The landlord was a jovial, pleasant-faced man of some sixty years of age; and his wife a kind, motherly-looking woman.

As usual, the travellers signed the names they had agreed upon in the book kept for the purpose, Patsey retaining her own name, and he signing as Lucien Porson.
The landlady, seeing that Patsey was completely worn out, at once took her off to her room.
"Ah! I thought that monsieur was too young to be madame's husband," the landlord said.
Leigh laughed.
"I am her brother," he said.