I had now the whole south of _France_, from the banks of the _Rhne_ to those of the _Garonne_, to traverse upon my mule at my own leisure--_at my own leisure_----for I had left Death, the Lord knows----and He only--how far behind me---- "I have followed many a man thro' _France_, quoth he--but never at this mettlesome rate." ----Still he followed, ----and still I fled him----but I fled him chearfully----still he pursued----but, like one who pursued his prey without hope----as he lagg'd, every step he lost, soften'd his looks----why should I fly him at this rate?

I had now the whole south of France to cross upon my mule at my leisure - for I had left Death far behind me - 'I have followed many a man through France,' quoth he, 'but never at this speed.'
- Still he followed, and still I fled him, but I fled him cheerfully - and he lagged like one without hope of catching his prey. - Why should I fly him at this rate?
