"Mr. Mayor," returned the Fleming, "I have just what you want. My little white horse--you may have seen him pass occasionally; he is a small beast from Lower Boulonnais.
He is full of fire. 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?"