Her soul was numb, her courage seemed dead, and little care had she in that hour of what might betide her now.
Florimond was coming, she remembered: coming to wed her.

Ah, well! It mattered little, since Monsieur de Garnache was dead--as though it could have mattered had he been living! Three hours of his long striding brought Garnache at last to Voiron, and the echo of his footsteps rang through the silent streets and scared a stray cat or two that were preying out of doors.

There was no watch in the little township and no lights, but by the moon's faint glimmer Garnache sought the inn of the Beau Paon, and found it at the end of a little wandering.

A gaudy peacock, with tail spread wide, was the sign above the door on which he thumped and kicked as if he would have beaten it down.
It opened after some delay, and a man, half clad, candle in hand, a night-cap on his hoary locks, showed an angry face at the opening.
At sight of the gaunt, bedraggled figure that craved admittance, the landlord would have shut the door again, fearing that he had to do with some wild bandit from the hills.

But Garnache thrust his foot in the way.
"There is a man named Rabecque, from Paris, lodging here.