CHAPTER XXXI . THE PLEASURES OF THE COUNTRY
O rus quando ego te aspiciam?— Horace
"You've no doubt come to wait for the Paris mail, Monsieur," said the host of an inn where he had stopped to breakfast.
"To-day or to-morrow, it matters little," said Julien.
The mail arrived while he was still posing as indifferent. There were two free places.
"Why! it's you my poor Falcoz," said the traveller who was coming from the Geneva side to the one who was getting in at the same time as Julien.
"I thought you were settled in the outskirts of Lyons," said Falcoz, "in a delicious valley near the Rhône."
"Nicely settled! I am running away."
"What! you are running away? you Saint Giraud! Have you, who look so virtuous, committed some crime?" said Falcoz with a smile.
"On my faith it comes to th
