In either case our errand seemed more urgent, but scarcely more hopeful.
The varied sights and sounds however of the road--many of them new to us--kept us from dwelling over much on this.

Our eyes were young, and whether it was a pretty girl lingering behind a troop of gipsies, or a pair of strollers from Valencia--JONGLEURS they still called themselves--singing in the old dialect of Provence, or a Norman horse-dealer with his string of cattle tied head and tail, or the Puy de Dome to the eastward over the Auvergne hills, or a tattered old soldier wounded in the wars--fighting for either side, according as their lordships inclined--we were pleased with all.
Yet we never forgot our errand.

We never I think rose in the morning--too often stiff and sore--without thinking "To-day or to-morrow or the next day--" as the case might be--"we shall make all right for Kit!" For Kit! Perhaps it was the purest enthusiasm we were ever to feel, the least selfish aim we were ever to pursue.

For Kit! Meanwhile we met few travellers of rank on the road.

Half the nobility of France were still in Paris enjoying the festivities which were being held to mark the royal marriage.