They wanted to make a saddle-horse of him at first.
Bah! He reared, he kicked, he laid everybody flat on the ground.
He was thought to be vicious, and no one knew what to do with him.
I bought him. I harnessed him to a carriage.
That is what he wanted, sir; he is as gentle as a girl; he goes like the wind.
Ah! indeed he must not be mounted.
It does not suit his ideas to be a saddle-horse.
Every one has his ambition.
‘Draw? Yes. Carry? No.’
We must suppose that is what he said to himself.”
“And he will accomplish the trip?”
“Your twenty leagues all at a full trot, and in less than eight hours. But here are the conditions.”
“State them.”
“In the first place, you will give him half an hour’s breathing spell midway of the road; he will eat; and some one must be by while he is eating to prevent the stable boy of the inn from stealing his oats; for I have noticed that in inns the oats are more often drunk by the stable men than eaten by the horses.”
“Some one will be by.”
“In the second place—is the cabriolet for Monsieur le Maire?”
“Yes.”
“Does Monsieur le Maire know how to drive?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Monsieur le Maire will travel alone and without baggage, in order not to overload the horse?”
“Agreed.”
“But as Monsieur le Maire will have no one with him, he will be obliged to take the trouble himself of seeing that the oats are not stolen.”
“That is understood.”
“I am to have thirty francs a day.
The days of rest to be paid for also—not a farthing less; and the beast’s food to be at Monsieur le Maire’s expense.”
M. Madeleine drew three napoleons from his purse and laid them on the table.
“Here is the pay for two days in advance.”
“Fourthly, for such a journey a cabriolet would be too heavy, and would fatigue the horse.
Monsieur le Maire must consent to travel in a little tilbury that I own.”
“I consent to that.”
“It is light, but it has no cover.”
“That makes no difference to me.”
“Has Monsieur le Maire reflected that we are in the middle of winter?”
M. Madeleine did not reply.
The Fleming resumed:— “That it is very cold?”
M. Madeleine preserved silence.
Master Scaufflaire continued:— “That it may rain?”
M. Madeleine raised his head and said:—
“The tilbury and the horse will be in front of my door to-morrow morning at half-past four o’clock.”
“Of course, Monsieur le Maire,” replied Scaufflaire; then, scratching a speck in the wood of the table with his thumb-nail, he resumed with that careless air which the Flemings understand so well how to mingle with their shrewdness:—
“But this is what I am thinking of now: Monsieur le Maire has not told me where he is going.
Where is Monsieur le Maire going?”
He had been thinking of nothing else since the beginning of the conversation, but he did not know why he had not dared to put the question.
“Are your horse’s forelegs good?” said M. Madeleine.
“Yes, Monsieur le Maire.
You must hold him in a little when going down hill.
Are there many descends between here and the place whither you are going?”
“Do not forget to be at my door at precisely half-past four o’clock to-morrow morning,” replied M. Madeleine; and he took his departure.
The Fleming remained “utterly stupid,” as he himself said some time afterwards.
The mayor had been gone two or three minutes when the door opened again; it was the mayor once more.