Supper hardly over, M. d'Anquetil took Jahel with him to his room, which was next to mine.
I wrote to my mother and to M. d'Asterac, and I composed the most touching epistle to Jahel.
I was anxious to tear Jahel away from his rage; I thought he would kill her.
One of them said to Jahel that Gaulard on the market place lodges man and beast.
Jahel ran before us, knocking at the doors, in quest of a bed and a surgeon.
I had the greatest difficulty to make him dwell in the pavilion, where he lives alone with his niece, Jahel.
M. d'Anquetil with Jahel took the upstairs room, where the bacon and the onions were suspended on hooks driven into the ceiling.
Entering the post inn I found Jahel in the corner of the fireplace, where five or six fowls were roasting on a spit.
And, taking the pin out of Jahel's hand, he kissed her on both cheeks with inconceivable courtesy, gracefulness and decency.
My imagination went horribly to that night at Sens, thinking that there Jahel's treachery would be completed.