The horse belonged, as Scaufflaire had said, to that small race of the Boulonnais, which has too much head, too much belly, and not enough neck and shoulders, but which has a broad chest, a large crupper, thin, fine legs, and solid hoofs—a homely, but a robust and healthy race. The excellent beast had travelled five leagues in two hours, and had not a drop of sweat on his loins.
He did not get out of the tilbury. The stableman who brought the oats suddenly bent down and examined the left wheel.
“Are you going far in this condition?” said the man.
He replied, with an air of not having roused himself from his reverie:—
“Why?”
“Have you come from a great distance?” went on the man.
“Five leagues.”
“Ah!”
“Why do you say, ‘Ah?’”
The man bent down once more, was silent for a moment, wit
